A Trick of Fate
by e-Sidera
Summary: After too much bad luck, Milly finds herself in Skyrim with her father, the destined Dragonborn. Alone for the first time in her life, she needs to make her own living and stand up for herself. When she thinks she has herself settled, she collides with fate again and is thrown head-first in the roaring business of dragons, intrigue, and love.
1. Escaping death

Disclaimer: The game Skyrim is owned by Bethesda. I am merely borrowing the setting here.

All thanks to my beta Verpine! Only the first chapter is beta'ed now, but more will follow soon.

**Chapter 1. Escaping death**

What had they gotten themselves into? A cascade of unfortunate events had brought them into this _most unfortunate _situation.

If only they hadn't been forced to buy a ridiculously expensive visa at the border between Morrowind and the Cyrodiil, then they wouldn't have been this poor. Then she wouldn't have been forced to brew and sell potions for profit. How was she supposed know that it was the Dark Brotherhood that had purchased a batch of deadly potions? She had been told that it would be used to poison traps for wolves, who threatened a farmer.

And how the authorities of Cyrodiil had traced it back to her was beyond her understanding. Well, perhaps she shouldn't have boasted so much about her alchemical abilities, but it was necessary, you know? They needed the money, and some recognition helps.

Her father had refused that the guards take her alone, so they were both captured. They were being driven to the Imperial City to serve their time, when their carriage was attacked by bandits. The guards were killed and their bodies looted, but the bandits left them alone. Perhaps they had felt true to _honour amongst thieves_. They could report the attack, but it was more probable that the authorities saw _them _as the culprits. Imperial authority just wasn't something you could count on to believe the truth or give you a fair trial. Their last collision had made thatabundantly clear.

Then, on their escape, high in the Jerral Mountains, they found a group of warriors who appreciated their input. Again, how could they know that the leader was Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion in Skyrim himself?

And of course, the group was attacked by the damned Imperials. How was it that fate rebounded on them; as if they had angered a Daedric Lord?

Milly wriggled her hands, but it was futile. The bonds were tied too tight, enchanted to drain her magicka. She hated having a depleted magicka pool. It was as if a small part of herself was chopped off, a part that was always there, a warming source in the pit of her stomach, calming and soothing. She knew it was in vain, but she tried to call forth anything that might have lingered in the emptiness, but nothing came.

"It is no use, lass," one of the Nords told her. She looked up. It was Ralof, the one that had persuaded Ulfric to take them as extra guards. Or more likely, to take her father as a guard, for she wasn't so useful in battle.

He looked at her wearing a pitying expression. She shot him a dirty look. She still had a slightly numb feeling from falling to the ground in the battle; hitting her head on a stone.

"I guess it would be of no use to tell you I am sorry," he tried.

"And I guess it would be no use to tell _you _that you could have warned us of the danger," she shot back. "Congratulations, you have just contributed to the deaths of two innocent people."

She knew she was being unfair, because they had also offered them protection until they were well over the borders in Skyrim. It wasn't exactly their fault that they were attacked.

But she didn't need him telling her that. She simply hated it when people kept the truth from her. It made her feel like a little girl**;** unworthy. And everything was easier if you could blame someone.

Upon her expression, he hold his tongue.

She shifted, for it was very uncomfortable in the wooden carriage. Her leg was asleep and her hands suffered from the loss of blood.

She looked around the carriage. Ralof was sitting opposite her, and Ulfric himself sat next to her, the only one that was gagged. His eyes pierced everything and he seemed awake and full of hate.

As if the Daedra mocked them yet again, the scenery was breathtaking. The white mountains, lit by the sun, seemed to emit a feeling of harmony and perhaps melancholy. The soft drizzle of snow had stopped, and covered the road with a white blanket. Not many people used this road so late in the year and the traces of their charts and horses were the only spots that violated the virgin snow.

She winched as she saw a small thistle at the side of the road, far out of her bound. It was a valuable ingredient for her, since it wasn't native to either Morrowind or Cyrodiil, the only provinces she had traveled to. It made her sad to realize that she wouldn't be able to dabble with the supplies that this foreign land could offer. The branch of thistle disappeared around the corner.

So, this was Skyrim, where her Nordic roots lay. The first time she visited it would be the last. The visit would only last a day.

Would it hurt, to die? How would they do it? Would they hang them? Chop their heads off? Perhaps they wouldn't kill them anytime soon. Perhaps they would leave them to starve in a dungeon.

Well, at least that would prolong their visit to Skyrim.

She looked at the carriage in the front. Her father was sitting there, but he still seemed slumped and silent.

"Damned Stormcloaks, damned you be," the fourth person in their carriage muttered. He continued to blather incoherently, about a horse he stole and how it all was the Stormcloaks fault he was in this situation.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse-thief?" Ralof asked him, shushing his hysterics. "A Nord's last thought should be of home."

Home? What was home for her? She had lived in Mournhold most her life. Her sister still lived there, married to a jewellery trader. Now they could never let her know what happened to them.

Mournhold never was the right place for her or her father. Her father had been a soldier, and after good service, he was allowed to leave his duty. He married her mother, a Breton, who lived in Mournhold. He thought he could be happy there, that he wouldn't grow restless. But then mother died of illness when Milly was ten. It had been hard on all of them.

Gwynneth, her sister, had never really been the adventurous type. She loved the city life and the hustle and bustle of people, but Milly wanted to go out and see the world. History had always been her passion, and she wanted to do nothing more than go to Vvardenfell and excavate the old Dwemer ruins, visiting the Red Mountain where the Nerevarine had made an end to the dangers of Dagoth Uhr. Unfortunately, the eruption of said Mountain, two centuries ago, had vanished most of the ruins. Those still remaining, underground, were in severe danger of cave-ins.

So they changed plans. Cyrodiil had Ayleid ruins, and that culture interested her all the same. After her sister had married, she and her father made plans to move to the Imperial Provence to start working at the ruins. Her father still had his swordsman skills and she knew a little of magic from years spend at the College.

But when they tried to move to Skingrad as a base for their research, the trouble started. The border guards demanded most of their hard-earned money and left them broke. They were stuck in Cheydinhall, with no Ayleid ruins whatsoever. Her father needed to sell his sword to get money and Milly took to alchemy.

The rest is history.

"Helgen," Ralof spoke. He chuckled, a low sound, void of mirth. "My childhood sweetheart came from here. She cheated on me. Fitting place to die."

She stared at him, her eyes big.

"Do you really think they'll kill us here, now?"

He chuckled again, but this time there was sympathy in his voice. "I don't doubt they will. Sovngarde awaits, lass."

Distressed, she shifted her gaze to the city. A child ran, laughter on his face. How could anyone find joy in this forsaken world? How could the villagers continue with their life as if time hadn't stopped? And why wasn't she in the same carriage as her father? Would she even get a change to say goodbye to him?

The carriages stopped in the middle of the village, next to a square. In front of a tall tower stood a man, his face covered and a large axe in his hand; the executioner, that was for sure. In front of him was a wooden dais, with a large wooden block in the middle. Were they really...?

Ralof gave her another pitying look as he noticed her despair.

"It will be quick," he said. "Let's go. We shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

How could he be so calm, so accepting of death? She was screaming on the inside, but her mouth was too dry to voice it. She couldn't utter a reply, but got out of the carriage, unbalanced because of her bound hands and stiff legs.

Milly barely noticed when the horse thief ran away and was brought down by archers. She sought her father's gaze, some sort of silent reassurance. His face was calm, compassionate. The look he gave her calmed her down a bit. Her father wasn't panicking, and so she shouldn't either. This was death, this was their end. There was nothing they could do about it. It was out of their hands, and so there was no point in worrying.

"You there, come forward," one of the soldiers commanded.

"M... me?" she uttered, finally finding her voice.

"Step forward," the soldier commanded again.

She did as he asked. The way he looked her up and down with disgust gave her shivers. She knew she must look like rubbish, with her hair one big tangle of leaf and matted with blood, and her clothes were torn.

"Who are you?" he asked. "You don't quite look like a Nord."

"I'm only half-Nord," Milly replied in a small voice. "And half Breton. I'm Milly – Greenthorn. That is my father, Holger," she said, indicating her head towards her father.

"And you're from?"

She hesitated a moment. "Mournhold," she replied, for she had never really felt any true attachment to Cheydinhall.

She looked at her father while the soldier went back to his papers.

"Forget the list. They all go the block," the commanding lady ordered.

Unsure what to do, Milly followed the other prisoners to the square. Shifting through the gathered crowd, she made sure she was next to her father.

"Dad..." she said, so glad to be close to him again that she was at a loss for words.

"Hush, Milly," he said compassionately. "This is it. It will be painless, I promise you."

She studied his face. His greying beard was matted with blood and his lower lip was split. There was a large gash over his right eye, one that would have made a scar, if he was allowed to live longer. His blue eyes were still as bright as always.

As a priest was telling tall tales of how their souls would be blessed by the Eight, one of the prisoners couldn't take it any longer.

"By the love of Talos, keep your false prayers to yourself," he spat. "If you need to kill us, do it quick. That will be better for all."

He positioned himself at the block, and the executioner raised his axe.

"Look at me, Milly," her father urged. She looked at him. "I am sorry I dragged you into this. And who knows what awaits us afterwards, but we might see mother again. I'm just sorry we could never tell Gwen."

"It's not your fault," Milly replied, as she heard the sickening clunk of the axe chopping off the prisoner's head. "Dad, just know, whatever happens... I'll always love you."

"And I you, dear," her father said, but they were interrupted.

"Quiet!" the commander called. "I will have no one talking."

"What? Or you'll kill us?" one of the prisoners at the side remarked.

Milly would have laughed had this been any other situation, but she never felt further removed from laugher in her life.

"You go next," the commander said, pointing to her father.

"Goodbye, dear," he said, as he walked up the dais.

The body of the killed prisoner was dragged aside, his head was put on his chest. His armour was stained with far more than blood. Milly was surprised she didn't have an urge to gag.

The wooden block was already shiny with the blood of the first unfortunate Stormcloak. Her father knelt down.

She had small consolation in the fact that her father wouldn't see her dead. It was meaningless that this meant that she, in turn, had to see her father's body. She just wanted him to remind her of life, even if reminding meant nothing in the afterlife. If there even _was _an afterlife, that is.

Ralof, who standing next to her, gave her a small nudge with his shoulder, a gesture that was meant to comfort.

Oddly, there were no tears in her eyes as the executioner raised his axe. Before the man could strike it down, there was a strange, rumbling noise, originating from above. It startled them all.

"What in Oblivion is that?" someone called, and they all saw it.

It was a dragon. A true, enormous dragon, that was soaring in the air on widespread wings. A _dragon_. But how? Her father said he always dreamt about dragons, and he had researched their lore, but they were supposed to be gone for ages!

The beast hovered in the air, landing on the tower. The ground shook, and she could hardly hold herself upright.

The skies turned, energy crackling around the tower, clouds moving around as in a storm. She was overwhelmed, and as the dragon opened its mouth and cried, her vision blurred and she fell down.

As she got to her feet, the world had changed. Before, it had seemed empty, but now everything was alive. There were screams, there was fire, explosions, and as she scurried away, following her father, they stepped over a dead body.

As they moved further, there was an explosion to their right, and with a scream, someone fell down from the ramparts. They ran around the falling man, navigating through the mess, somehow managing not to lose their footing.

They headed to one of the towers. Inside were Ralof, Ulfric, and a few other**s** of the Stormcloak prisoners. Two of them were wounded, and she tried not to look at the gaping, bloody hole that was the shoulder of one of them.

"What is that thing?" Ralof exclaimed. "Can – can the legends be true?"

Ulfric shook his head and leaned against the wall. "Legends cannot burn down villages."

"I take it from your reaction dragon**s** are not common here?" her father asked.

"No," Ralof replied. "I don't think anyone has seen one in living memory. They are but legend now."

Milly stared at her father. One of the prisoners was busy cutting his binds loose, moving to her when he was finished.

It felt odd to have her hands free again, but nothing was better than the feeling of her magicka slowly seeping through her veins again. The flow of life was back in her body again.

She wanted to hug her father, but after the sound of a loud explosion, Ralof urged them to go up the tower. Blindly, they followed him, for what other options did they have?

But then, commotion started again. The dragon blasted a hole through the wall of the tower, right where one of the Stormcloaks had stood. They fell down the steps, looking at the hole in the wall. They needed to jump.

Ralof knew of a few ways to get out of the city. Well, alright, they would continue to follow him then. Milly hardly realised what was happening as they avoided falling rocks, fire and the dragon itself.

She saw the little boy, cradling himself to his father's chest, muttering "dragon, dragon...". She saw a large burn wound at the side of his head. Poor child, but what could she do? Onwards, she had to go, follow her father, follow Ralof. She had to ignore the bodies of both citizens and soldiers, people falling, screams. Everybody now had blood somewhere, perhaps from themselves, perhaps from someone else. She saw a woman, cradling a stump of her arm, but she had to go on, and on, on...

There was another tower, and underground passageways. Imperials to fight, but not she. She pressed her back against the wall, watching Ralof slice through a soldier, observing how her father nearly beheaded another with a sword he had taken from a fallen soldier. It was killing or getting killed, the most basic instinct known to men. Onwards they went, and then another explosion, right above them.

The passageway had collapsed and trapped Ralof, her father and herself on one side, and the Jarl and the other soldiers at the other side. Again, they had no option. They couldn't wait to move the debris. The Jarl was on his own now, and so where they.

Silence awaited them around the next corner. The passageways had merged into natural caverns. Then, the cave vibrated and told them they weren't nearly out of danger. Hopefully there _was _another exit, an exit that went somewhere safe.

There were voices, footsteps. Around the corner, over a bridge, were more Imperial soldiers. Milly remained to the side, hoping that no one would notice her, as her father and Ralof charged at the foes. Ralof was agile with a bow, regaining his aim even in the heat of battle. But as she saw Ralof shooting down soldiers, a whole new type of fear overcame her.

Apparently, one of the soldiers had snuck up on her, and pressed a dagger to her throat.

"Thinking you're so fragile you don't have to fight, don't you, my dear?" he muttered in her ear.

His body was pressed close to her, the dagger so near it would slice her skin if she so much as swallowed. She was so frightened she could hardly move a muscle. She couldn't see the man as he was standing behind her, but his voice had an unpleasant lisp around the corners. Neither her father nor Ralof had noticed a thing. Even if she could utter a sound, a scream would throw them off balance, and might get them killed. No, this was just her and the soldier.

The soldier turned her around, slamming her into the wall. He pressed his hands against her upper arms, keeping her locked in place. The man had a square face, smeared with dirt and blood. He missed a tooth, and his breath reeked so foul it almost made her faint.

There was a gleam in his brown eyes, something she could only describe as _mad_.

"Well, you have pretty hair," he said, releasing one of her arms in order to slide it through her red curls. "I recon you're not too unsightly if we clean you up."

The man buried his face in her neck, and before she knew it, his hands were on her body and he was _licking_ her skin.

There was hardly time for fear as Milly acted. All she knew was that this _wasn't_ going to happen.

Not feeling particularly brave, Milly pressed her hand to the top of his head, collecting all the magic that had flowed back in her veins, called forth heat, and released it. The fireball that erupted from her hand was not so strong, but it was strong enough to do the trick. The soldier screamed as she blasted his skin off, releasing her and grabbing for his mangled head. He fell back, hit the stones hard, and didn't move.

Milly stared at his body in horror. She could hardly believe what had happened and still felt the man's dirty hands on her waist, his breath in her neck.

The face of the body was a horrid mess of red and black, and one of his eyes was missing. His jaw sagged, and _this wasn't a face anymore_.

"Milly?" her father called, as he and Ralof came around the corner. They were speechless as their eyes fell upon the body.

"I – I killed him," she muttered, staring big-eyed at the palm of her hand, that was now an ugly red. In her numbness, she didn't feel any pain.

_She had killed someone._

"Magic?" Ralof said. "Well, that is certainly effective. Here, let me bind that for you."

She followed him, still numb, as he took her to stream that flowed through the passageway and washed her hand. He took a small tin jar from his pocket and spread some of the cream on her palm, before he wrapped some linen around it.

Her father was still speechless.

"Milly..." he said finally, when Ralof was done.

"I'm alright, dad," she replied weakly. "Just a little shocked."

"We have to continue," Ralof said, looking around in a worried manner. "I think we are close to the surface."

"Wait," Milly said, as she walked back to the body of soldier. As she saw it again, she wasn't scared any more. She took the dagger that had fallen to the ground. What if there was another soldier that tried to kill her? What if there was no one around and she had to save herself? And what, when at that exact moment, she had no magicka left? She could never handle a real blade, but a dagger like this one... She might not really know how to handle it, but how hard could it be? She just had to stick them with the pointy end, at the right place.

"I'd better hold onto this, before something like this happens again," she said a bit unsure, and looked up. "Well, we'd better hurry. Dad, I intend to see the day that wound of yours has made a scar."

It was another hour before they stood in the fresh air. It felt like days had passed since the carriage stopped, but it was still early afternoon.

The surroundings were breathtaking. They were at the foot of the mountains, with snowy tops that surrounded them from all directions. Water rushed nearby, and she guessed there must be a stream behind the tall pine trees. Birds chirped from the high branches and butterflies fluttered around the flowers at the roadside. The air was clean and fresh, smelling _green _and the sun was shining, the bright rays filtered by the foliage.

This was life, in all its glory. They had escaped death once again. They were in Skyrim now, both of them alive. Perhaps they did have some good luck, after all.

* * *

_AN: This is originally based on an oneshot I wrote for my father. I just wanted to write a story of how two people got themselves into Skyrim, so basically, what happened pre-game. Of course this idea grew into my head and has become a full-length story now!_

_Anyway, this is my first story here! I'm astonished that you have read so far. Any thoughts on what I have written are greatly appreciated! I'll give a cookie to everyone who read this far, and I hope to meet you again in the next chapter :)_


	2. Riverwood

**Chapter 2. Riverwood**

The sun was setting as they finally neared Riverwood. The sight was astounding; the snowy mountaintops reflected the spectrum of pinks and purples of the sky. They passed a waterfall and at the other side of the river, they actually saw a doe and her young drinking! She had never seen a doe before in her life and the sight of them was almost as if seeing some sort of mythical creature doing something very _mundane_, as opposed to the terrifying dragon of before. Ralof wasn't so impressed by the animals, but they must be a common sight for him.

The downside to the late hour was that together with the sun, the temperature was dropping. It had been cold before in the ragged clothes they wore, but now it was positively freezing. Ralof had given his blue cloak to Milly to wear, as his clothes were warmer and she was shivering. She was so exhausted, she couldn't even summon the magicka to conjure some flames to keep warm.

After the long and wearing day, the view of the small village was most welcome. The houses were built on the east bank of the river and upon a small isle in the river was a large open building; the wood mill owned by Ralof's sister. It lay deserted now, the water wheel turning idly in the stream.

And the Daedra be blessed that Ralof had family here. They could only salvage a little bit of money from fallen soldiers, and that amount would not be enough to provide all three of them with a warm meal and a bed at an inn.

Most of the villagers were inside now, having dinner, if the smell of food gave anything away. The few stragglers that were still out of the street shot the three of them a rather curious look and huddled together to whisper.

"My sister's house is at the edge of the village," Ralof said as he turned right at a traders shop, "I hope she made a big pot of stew."

The house they were heading to was one of the biggest in the village. A stick fence surrounded a garden were an ox and a few chicken walked around. The ox lifted his head and looked them lazily while chewing, but decided the grass was far more interesting than the newcomers. At the left side of the garden was a vegetable patch and behind the house was a small orchard of apple trees.

Ralof knocked on the door and a tall lady opened. Her hair and eyes were the same colour as Ralof's, and it was easy to see this was his elder sister. Then again, all the Nords she had seen so far all looked alike.

"Ralof!" she said, surprised to see him. "Come on in, quickly, the fire is lit."

Inside it was warm. Milly and her father remained at the door. The house looked comfortable, there were animal pelts on the floor and wall for isolation and the fire burnt happily. Above it was a large pot with something that smelled like stew and made their mouths water. At the table sat a big man with an impressive moustache and a small boy that jumped from his place at the fire and danced around Ralof.

"If I had to judge by your looks and what has happened here today, I guess you have a lot to tell us," the woman said.

"You can say that again," Ralof replied. "I'd like you to meet my friends, Holger and his daughter Milly."

"Pleased," the woman said, shaking their hands. "I am Gerdur, and these are my husband Hod and my son Frodnar." Addressing the jumping boy, she added, "Frodnar, not now. Your uncle is hungry. You can ask for stories later."

As they sat down at the table, Gerdur took three bowls and filled them with leftover stew. Gratefully, they accepted the bowls and ate without restraint. The stew tasted better than anything Milly had eaten before. There were apples, leeks, and cabbage beside some goat and foreign spices that beguiled their taste buds. That, and there was the fact that hunger made the best cook.

Hod and Gerdur turned serious as they all finished two bowls.

"It's clear something is going on," Gerdur spoke. "You three all look like you've nearly escaped death, and had to do so while fighting. We saw a dragon this afternoon. Did something happen? What of Ulfric? What of the Rebellion?"

"You know we were on a mission to go to Cyrodiil to see if anyone in the northern province liked to join our cause," Ralof elaborated after a pause, deciding where best to start. "When we were in the border mountains, scouts returned and told us it was no go. The cities were too much guarded, so we thought it would be best to turn around and go back to Windhelm." He shifted his look. "It was there that we met Holger and Milly. At first we thought they might be spies, but it was clear they were refugees. We made an allegiance with them, one for mutual protection until we were over the mountains and back in Skyrim. Well, it wasn't much later when we ran into Imperial soldiers."

Milly could remember pretty well how she had met the Stormcloaks. She and her father had been on the run for three days since the bandits raided their carriage. They were to the north of Bruma and were trying to find the Pale Pass that would bring them to Skyrim. Their progress was slow, as they tried to avoid the main road. The mountains here were steep and it was difficult to navigate around sudden ravines and vertical mountain walls. At least they were grateful it hadn't been snowing.

They had been living mostly on fruits and stale bread that they had come upon in an apple orchard; and they were lucky enough to find an unattended basked of bread. They didn't have the time to make traps and linger around trying to catch animals, and they had no hunting weapons. Sure, Milly knew some destructive spells, but she did not dare to use them lest she set the wood on fire or anyone would detect them. Overall, she wasn't confident enough in her skills to actually use them. So far they had been lucky and could hide themselves for the occasional wolves and they could only hope against hope they could continue to hide from them.

On the evening of that third day, that hope came to an end. They were fatigued and their vigilance had to pay the price for it. The mountains had reached to some sort of plateau at this point, but high pine trees made it dark. The atmosphere was tense, as if something was about to happen. They proceeded with the upmost care, but after a short while of looking around in paranoia, men in blue cloaks emerged from the trees. There must be at least twenty of them, all of them with bows pointing at them.

A tall man with blond, braided hair stepped forward. There was some sort of innate arrogance in his air that told them this was the leader of the gang.

His voice fitted his appearance. "State your business," he spoke in a stern voice. "I need to notice that we have you surrounded, with more arrows pointing your way than you might think. Put down your weapons and hold your hands where we can see them."

Scared and petrified, Milly immediately raised her hands. This man looked like he meant real business and the sword on his side didn't quite seem like a toy.

"We have no weapons," her father replied slowly. "We do not mean any harm."

From the side, four soldiers put their bows back and stepped up to them. Not quite gently, they took them by the arms, forcing them upright with their arms outstretched. Their grip was firm, and Milly felt her skin bruising beneath their fingers. They pulled so hard it felt like they were at a tug-of-war with her arms.

Her heart raced in her chest, and seemed loud like a drum in the pressing silence. Terrified, Milly stared at the face of her leader. He was a Nord like everyone else, a man in his prime, close to age with her father. His expression was horrifying, filled with hatred, and it bled through in his voice.

"Ralof, see if they are telling the truth. They might be hiding some weapons," he spoke.

The soldier that was Ralof stepped from beside his leader. His face was kinder and he wasn't rough as he searched her father.

"He's clean," he said and as he turned to look at her, her father started to struggle.

"You're not going to lay a hand on her," he said, trying with all his strength. "If we would have a weapon, it would be me who was carrying it, not her."

"If we can no touch her, she's going to have to undress and show she carries nothing she is," one of the men holding her replied in a slurred voice.

"Dad, it's fine," Milly said, almost pleading. She was scared for her father; that the soldiers would do him any harm if he struggled further.

The soldier Ralof had a calming air around him. "Don't be scared," he said. Point was, she was just that. Scared for what might happen, scared for her father, for herself, if the man was going to touch her, and scared what might happen afterwards.

The man made eye contact, and something in his air soothed her. This man didn't seem to be too bad, and as least he was gentle in his action.

And yes, he did touch her to see if she had anything hidden, but it was fast and over before it began. She was only dimly aware of some of the men to the side wolf-whistling, calling obscene things.

"They are clean," the man spoke calmly. "Release them," he added, and the men that hold their arms let go of them. "I'm sorry, lass," he said to her, his face earnest. "And my apologies to you, sir," he said as her father walked over to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"State your business here," the leader questioned again, not one bit kinder than before.

Father wondered for a moment. Would it be smart to tell all that had happened to a group of strangers? Sure, the strangers had weapon, and didn't quite seem like Imperial soldiers, but one could never know. Holger made it sound like they were on the run from a great injustice, no matter the source.

"So, we planned to make it to Skyrim," he concluded. "From there were thought to maybe continue onwards to Morrowind."

"You are fleeing from the Imperial Provence. Am I correct in assuming the people you are running away from are also Imperial?" the leader asked.

Well, they couldn't really answer to the negative now. And moreover, these people were Nords. Weren't the Nords in war against the Imperial Empire?

"No one blames you for disagreeing with the Imperials," the leader agreed. He turned away to discuss their fates with his men. The moments seemed to endure forever. It was their life on the line, after all. If the men decided to kill them, there wasn't much they could do against them, magic or not.

Finally, the leader turned back to them. Still, his face was stern. Did this man ever laugh?

"Alright, you are allowed to go," he decided.

"They are against the Imperials, right?" Ralof said, referring to his leader. "He looks like he can handle a blade. Have you served your time?"

"I was first lieutenant in Soltsheim, Holger Greenthorn," father replied. "And it is true, I can handle a blade rather well."

"My Jarl," Ralof said to the leader. "I think we can come to some mutual benefit here. We are rather short of soldiers after our misadventures at the border. Let them travel with us until we are back over the mountains. He fights for us, and we guard them in turn. They can go when are over the mountains."

"We were about to settle down for camp," the leader said, giving a wearied sigh. "He can show us his abilities, and, if he's any good, they can travel with us."

"That seems fair," father replied.

The rest of the evening, they made camp. The soldiers had hunted hares, actual hares to eat! Milly helped cook the stew while her father proved his abilities. The soldiers, Stormcloaks as they called themselves, seemed impressed with him.

The evening was a rather pleasant one. It raised their spirits to have a full stomach, to have company besides just each other. A woman brought a lute, and they were singing songs, and before long, Milly was sleeping, wrapped in a warm fur blanket.

Just after midnight, the camp was raided. The soldiers that were on the lookout cried out. Those that were sleeping jumped up, but it was hard to orientate. There was commotion everywhere, soldiers screaming, the flashes of swords in the fire. The objective seemed to be to take them captive, not to kill. Most of Stormcloaks thought that a fate worse than death, and fought with everything they had. Left and right, was the sound of metal on metal, of arrows whipping through the air.

There was nothing Milly could do. Fear took her as soldiers fell, as the mossy earth turned red, as people screamed with pain of injuries beyond healing. Milly stayed to the side, then slipped over a root. She fell down and hit her head on the mossy rocks. Her vision turned black, and the world disappeared.

And when she woke up, she was bound and in a carriage, taken off to Helgen.

"We saw the dragon flying over the Barrow, to the North," Gerdur confirmed as Holger and Ralof finished their story.

Apparently, the village had been in quite an uproar when a few villagers spotted the dragon flying overhead. Of those whom hadn't seen the dragon, half were jealous they hadn't seen it, and the other half were in disbelief. A dragon, near their village? Notwithstanding how far-fetched that sounded, there was no trail of fire and destruction. If there had been a dragon, surely it must have killed, wouldn't it? The fact that there was no such trail meant there could not have been a dragon.

"The Jarl of Whiterun needs to be told about this," Hod remarked. "For all we know, Riverwood or Whiterun itself could be in danger of another attack. We don't know where the dragon came from, or what its purpose was, after all."

Holger remained silent. He had dreamt about dragons for as long as he could remember. He didn't know if there were different kind of dragons, different colours, different sizes, different wings. What startled him most was that the dragon at Helgen was an exact copy of the dragon in his dreams. He knew that for certain, for he had dreamt so long of the dragon it was most familiar to him. Did it mean something that the dragon had appeared the exact moment his head was about to be chopped off?

He had really thought to die that moment – he had felt that his wife was there, in a blink of an eye, just beyond his touch. Then the dragon landed on that tower and the vision was torn away again.

It wasn't like he wasn't grateful. He liked to live and the thought that he dragged his daughter to her end was more than he could carry, the very daughter that was now sleeping with her head on her arms. Yet, it also felt like losing his wife for a second time.

"I'll go to Whiterun," he said resolutely. "I'll inform the Jarl of the danger. There might be someone there who can tell more about the dragons, an archivist or the likes. I want to know more about them."

Ralof nodded. "I'll go with you to Whiterun. It's on the way to Windhelm. Ulfric must still be alive - he _must_ be - and I'm sure he's on his own way to Windhelm." For a moment, there was a flash of doubt in the man eyes, doubt if his leader had escaped Helgen. Holger wanted to say something about the cave in, that no one knew what could have happened behind the fallen boulders, but he kept his tongue. He didn't want to trouble the young man.

"I've been thinking about that too," Holger replied instead. "Even if I lived the last 25 years in Mournhold, before that I traveled all of Tamriel. I knew about what happened here, what happened with the Thalmor and the White-Gold Concordat."

He had been in the Great War, he knew of the dangers of the Thalmor. Luckily the Thalmor never had any true power in Morrowind, or in Solstheim, and he never had to fight in any of the big battles near the Imperial City. However, the war made him despise the Thalmor. He had never really been religious, but banning the worship of Talos was madness. A war fought because of a different faith were the most useless, in his opinion. Let anyone worship whatever Divine or Daedra he choose, or let them be free not to believe, as long as you don't force your beliefs on anyone else.

That said, he hated the Imperial forces too. The fact that the Thalmor were now in true charge in the Imperial City was practically a battle between two unwanted authorities. The Imperials had always been too quick to judge, too harsh in their ways, what was confirmed in his own meeting with them. Perhaps everything would have been better if there were still true Septims left on the throne.

Skyrim, however, was an interesting mixture of those forces, plus the forces of Ulfric Stormcloak. He might not agree to everything Ulfric had done, but out of the three forces, Ulfric Stormcloak was by far the least bad one. At least from what he knew about him.

"I know the current situation of Skyrim, even if I might not know the stories from every side. I do know that even if don't think everything Ulfric had done was smart, I am for a free Skyrim. Let the Nords reign in the matter they think is best for their country, without interference from any Imperial of the Thalmor. I think I want to join your Stormcloak Rebellion."

It was silent for a moment as he spoke these words.

"You will be most welcome," Ralof said after the observed the older man for a while. "You fight well. Your skill will be highly appreciated. Ulfric knows you now, and I feel you are to be trusted. I think he would welcome you with a warm heart. However," he began, looking to his side, to where his daughter was sleeping.

Holger didn't need telling what Ralof wanted to say. "Milly," he said. She looked so peaceful asleep, yet there was a frown on her face.

Hod rose from his chair. "No point in waking her up," he said. "We'd best put her in bed. Frodnar, you can sleep with us tonight."

Ignoring the fuss his son made, Hod carried Milly to a different room, putting her to bed. After a minute he returned.

"Milly can't go," Holger said resolutely. "A war is not a place for her. She'd be unhappy surrounded by tall tough men swinging axes; she'd wither." He sighed. "It feels foolish to have left Mournhold now. I think I need to send her back."

"There are lots of carriages moving between the big cities. I am assured you can put her safely on a carriage to Riften," Gerdur suggested. "From Riften there are lots of rides that will travel to Morrowind. One of them will certainly be able to carry her back to Mournhold."

"And these carriages are safe?" he asked.

"As safe as they can be, I think," she replied. "They are used by a great many people, so she would never be alone."

"I doubt they will be cheap," Holger remarked. "I'll find a way to get money when we're in Whiterun."

Ralof looked at him, sceptically. "I know it is not in my place to comment, but do you think she will go quietly?"

Holger sighed. "No, she won't. I'll have to force her," he snorted derisively. "Quite probably have to knock her down and throw her in a coach."

They should never have left Mournhold. Perhaps he might think differently if the border visa wasn't so astonishingly high and they would have actually made Skingrad and the Aleyid ruins. But the hard truth was, they didn't. They were in Skyrim, and Skyrim was at the verge of falling into a civil war. This was no place for a girl like Milly, so stubborn, so innocent, and so striving to do things just out of her reach.

It's only when you have two children that you realize how different two persons can be, he always understood. His eldest had always been the lady, always been one step ahead at embroidery, dancing, or being swooned by boys.

He always told stories when they were little of strange cultures and faraway places. Gwynneth took them as fairytales, stories, but Milly took them as a truth, a mystery waiting for her to be solved. She was always playing with wooden swords with her friend, sneaking around and going on adventurous missions to retrieve the lost treasures of his stories, sometimes in the form of an ivory hairbrush, sometimes a silver spoon...

And finally, after his wife's death, when they lost their status of nobility, Milly insisted on going to the Arcane University that was now hosted in the old temple district of Mournhold. He didn't know why she always had an urge to prove herself. At least his eldest was safe, being married to a merchant and living a wealthy life in a safe city. A pang followed through his heart as he thought about Gwynneth. Since she was married, would she already be with child? Would he actually have to miss the birth of his first grandchild? And, was she really happy with that Breton man of hers? And most of all, why couldn't Milly have followed in her footsteps and be safe and married too?

But marriage... he could hardly imagine any man being able to swoon Milly. He didn't think she even had any experiences of being swooned, and the Daedra forbid, the thought of any man touching her almost made his blood boil. But still... If she was married like her sister, she would have been safe. And direly unhappy.

He sighed again and looked at Ralof. "Just do yourself a pleasure, mate, and never have any children. Or, be lucky and have boys. Daughters, especially stubborn daughters, are just too much of a fuss to handle."

* * *

_AN: This was once one chapter together with the next. I know about my tendency to write huge chapters, so I decided to post them as two chapters instead. Enjoy!_

_This has been beta'd and improved by Verpine. Thank you!  
_


	3. Healing and Cleaning

**Chapter 3. Healing and Cleaning**

It was still dark when Milly woke up. She was disorientated for a moment, not knowing where she was or how she got there. As her eyes got used to the darkness, her memory shot back.

A beheading. A dragon. Escaping via caves, going to Riverwood. She fell asleep at the table after dinner, and someone must have carried her to a bed. A look in the near darkness confirmed that Frodnar was now sleeping with his parents, and two shaped at the floor showed her father and Ralof.

Feeling awake, she felt around for her shoes. Pulling them on and using the blanket as a cloak, she sneaked outside.

The air was fresh and she stopped a moment to inhale deeply. The eastern skies were already starting to lighten. She sat down on the wall surrounding the garden and watched a rabbit that slowly hopped around.

She was enjoying the quiet moments as the sky turned orange. Shading over the entire village, was an enormous maintain to the east. It was very steep and the snowy top disappeared into the black skies. What would the view be from the very summit?

She turned around at the sound of footsteps behind her. It was Ralof, rubbing his eyes.

"Slept well?" he asked.

"Like a baby," she replied. "You?"

"My sleeps were haunted by that dragon," he confessed, sitting down next to her.

"I can imagine," she said quietly.

They were silent for a while, looking how a pair of rabbits hopped off in the distance, how the chickens awoke and the birds chirped.

"What will we do now?" Milly asked after a while.

"We spoke about that for a long time, after you fell asleep," Ralof replied slowly. "Your father said he would like to join the cause of the Stormcloaks."

"Do you know for sure that Ulfric survived?" she asked.

"I'm certain," Ralof spoke. "But first we need to warn the Jarl of Whiterun of the dangers of the dragon. We will leave tomorrow morning. From there, your father and I will travel east, to Windhelm."

"And I?" Milly asked, looking up at him, pleading. "Does my father intend to leave me behind?"

Ralof was silent for a moment. Perhaps he could anticipate the dangers of the girl exploding in the near future. "Windhelm is a dangerous city, the centre of the rebellion," he explained. "Your father doesn't want you to be in such danger."

She was standing now, but even as she stood, she wasn't any taller than the blonde man who sat on the wall.

"What am I supposed to do then? Stay in Whiterun? I don't know anyone there. I don't know the city, there is nothing for me!"

Ralof was calm. "Your father wants you to go back to Mournhold, to your sister."

She turned around, her back facing the man that brought her this dreadful news. She wanted to cry.

"Look, Milly," Ralof said, now standing and putting a hand on her shoulder. "This is between you and your father, but I just wanted to say I don't think he's wrong. It _is_ too dangerous there for you."

Milly turned around. "If it's too dangerous for me, then it's too dangerous for him too!" she replied, fighting against tears. "I don't want to get back to that city, to Mournhold. You don't know what it's like there, it's not for me."

She jerked herself away from Ralof's hand, stomping off to the other side of the garden.

She was being unreasonable, stubborn, she knew that. But there was something about the thought of needing to go back to Mournhold that repulsed her, even scared her. Sure, it would be wonderful to see her sister again, but the high walls of Godsreach and even the beautiful temple courtyard seemed frightening. It wasn't for her to be locked up in a city, even if the city was as beautiful as Mournhold. There were certain people she would be happy with never to see again. And besides, where would she live? At her sister's?

As she turned around, she saw Ralof sitting on the wall, looking at her.

Suddenly she was ashamed of herself.

"I apologize," she said in a low voice, her cheeks turning red. "You don't deserve to be yelled at. You didn't decide this." She sighed. "It's just... I have lived through so much these two weeks, more than in the rest of my life combined. Perhaps it was scary, perhaps it was unpleasant, but nothing scares me so much as the thought of going back to Mournhold. Perhaps that's stupid. Perhaps _I'm_ stupid. I think I just want a new life, and why not in Skyrim? I – I guess I could open an alchemy shop somewhere. I know that is something I can do, since I did it before in Cheydinhall. Who knows, perhaps I might find..."

Her voice trailed away, as she realised a few things. First, she was about to say 'love', but somehow, even that thought was ridiculous. Somehow, the whole love and marriage business was nothing for her. Having a family? She couldn't even form an image of herself in 10 years, in front of the fireplace, husband at her side and children surrounding her. No. Those were things for Gwen, her sister... Not for her.

And then she noticed she was blabbering all of this to someone who was basically a complete stranger.

He was wearing a smirk on his face. And as she observed him, another thing dawned to her.

"Gosh," she babbled. "I guess both of us still look like we came out of battle, don't we?"

Suddenly she was self-conscious, plucking at her torn dress, feeling her hair. It was loose now, one big, disarranged pile of orange curls. She picked a few leaves from it.

"If someone saw us now, they might think we have just been fighting," Ralof replied with a smile. "Let us go inside. I reckon Gerdur has breakfast ready, and she might even be filling a bath."

Both of those assumptions were right. As they went inside, they were greeted by the scent of cinnamon porridge.

"Good morning," Gerdur greeted them. "We saw you sitting outside, and thought you would come in as soon as you went hungry."

"Thank you," Milly said sincerely as she took a bowl from the older woman.

"Your father is cleaning himself now, and I'm making you a bath," she chatted on.

Hod was dressed, greeted them, and made his way to the sawing mill. Frodnar was hugging his dog next to the fire.

Father came from the back room, wearing clean clothes borrowed from Hod, all blood removed and his wounds tended to. Somehow the sight of wound on his forehead, that was healing and on its way to make a scar, made her happy. It was like a confirmation that her father truly was alive.

"Well Milly, seems like sleep didn't do you well," he said.

"Ha-ha," she replied in a bored tone.

As he stepped by her, he tugged her hair.

"We'll talk when you're cleaned," he said, kissing the top of her head. "I'm going out to see the village, see if anyone else knows something about that dragon."

He left as she finished her meal, first and second helpings.

She walked to the back room, where Gerdur was filling the bath.

"I've added some lavender oil," she said. "You deserve to be clean as a flower after looking like that."

"You shouldn't have," Milly said. "Really, I don't want to be a bother..."

"Nonsense," Gerdur interrupted. "Come, turn around. I'll help you clean your hair."

Milly hesitated a moment. Did she mean she was going to stay here? She had always been an extreme prude, some leftover of once living as a noble. Her mother had always helped her with her bathing when she was still alive. And after her mother died, well, she wasn't noble any more, and as a result never had servants helping her with her toilette. Now she didn't let anyone see her naked, she just didn't.

Gerdur ignored her, and helped her with the openings of her dress.

Well, at any time it was good to have someone helping her with her hair, and she didn't want to appear ungrateful. The way it was now, it would take a while to untangle it.

She swallowed her shyness and went into the bath tub. The water was divine on her strained body. Her hand was still red and ugly and stung a little, but she felt so good, being pampered in a fragranced bath, having the older woman work her hair, scrub her back clean.

As she washed the rest of herself, Gerdur came back with a bundle of fabric.

"This is an old dress of mine. It doesn't fit me anymore, so you can have it. It might be too long for you, but we can do something about that later. I think this is a very becoming colour on you. Makes your hair and eyes stand out. You really have exceptional hair." Gerdur smiled and put the bundle of clothes on the cabinet. "You can take it from here, can't you, dear? I'm going to find my husband."

"I..." Milly said, as the woman turned around. She looked back at her. "I just want to let you know this means a lot to me. Thank you. I mean it, you are a good person."

She meant every word she said. She felt good after this bath, and the care of this woman that was a stranger to her, meant the world.

"Of course," Gerdur said. "Don't be silly, girl. Please help yourself to some more porridge if you're still hungry."

She smiled as she left the room. She heard another door close as Gerdur left the house. Milly went out of the bath and dried herself. There was a looking glass, reflecting her clean face. There were still a few scratches on her freckled skin, but she looked otherwise decent. Her red hair was still wet, but it was shiny and clean. She prided herself for that hair. Her face was a bit non-descript, too round to be beautiful, her mouth and nose too small and cheeks too full to be pretty.

Her mother always said her red her was her beauty, and she had to wear it down. Gwynneth had always been the beautiful one, with big eyes and dark lashes. She took after her mother and had inherited her brown hair. Milly only got the green eye colour from her mother, and her red hair she got from her father, with the freckles were a by-product of her own.

The bundle of fabric on the cabinet consisted of some smallclothes and a somewhat faded turquoise woollen dress. It was simple, with a bit of white embroidery of berries alongside the collar. It was too big for her, both in length and width, given that Gerdur was a head taller. She could use the belt to make it tighter and tugged some of the fabric underneath it, so the dress wouldn't drag over the floor. The result wasn't too pretty, but it would do. She would ask Gerder for a needle and thread to make it shorter.

Now, her hand. She needed to find some soothing cream and bandage it.

As she rummaged through the different jars on the cabinet, a loud bang to her left startled her.

Ralof stood in the door, dressed in nothing but a pair of casual trousers. He was wearing a shocked expression.

For a moment they looked at each other, an awkward silence between them. Ralof had cleaned himself, shaved, and looked so different, that Milly was mortified to notice he was actually a rather handsome man. While he was not overtly broad, there was no doubt he had an athletic body. There were several scars on his chest, showing past injuries.

It was clear that Ralof wasn't so affected by all of this as she was.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you had left with Gerdur."

No smart answer came to Milly's mind, so she kept on staring at him. He noticed her outstretched hand, and the jars on the cabinet.

"You also were to tend to injuries, weren't you?" he continued, as if Milly didn't look like a fool. "Let me help you with that."

He found the right jar and started working. Milly could only imagine what might have happened if he had come earlier, when she was still undressed. The thought that he might imagine the same thing – might imagine her naked – made her so incredibly shy she didn't know how to position herself. It unnerved her that Ralof was so unaffected by all of this. And even if he imagined her naked, he had already touched her everywhere. The sudden image of his hands running over her body to search for weapons, only two days ago, was sharp in her mind and gave her chills.

Then again, it was only her who was so overly prude. And by Azura, if only she was more like her sister. Gwen never had a problem around boys when they were young, and they were naturally drawn to her. When Milly had been a child, she had one friend, but as she grew older, after her mother died, she became a puddle of awkwardness wherever men were involved in something personal.

It bugged her, since she always wanted to appear in control of every situation. Somehow, it was important for her to be seen like that.

Ralof was talking to her. Talking about her wound, talking about what had happened yesterday.

"... will be healed in week."

What? What was he saying? Had he asked a question, that she hadn't answered because of her daydreaming? It didn't seem so, luckily.

After coating the cream on her hand and gently massaging it into her skin, he wrapped it in clean linen to keep the wound moist. He had done exactly this the previous day, and Milly wondered what had happened to make it feel so differently this time. Well, that clearly was because of a half-naked Ralof whom made her prude mind go limp.

"Thank you," she said in a small voice, looking up as Ralof was finished. He looked down with a smirk on his face, amused to see Milly being so shy all of a sudden.

When he was done, Ralof twisted around in front of the looking glass, trying to look at a wound on his upper arm. On it was an ugly wound, a big angry cut, surrounded by inflamed skin.

Milly awoke from her daze, gasping.

"Ralof, that's really bad!" she exclaimed. "You need to clean it out very well, disinfect it and bind it, or it might contaminate and result in fever."

Ralof wasn't impressed. "I've had worse," he said, still trying to get a good look of his arm.

"Are you sure?" Milly asked, worried. He might have, seen by the scars on his chest. "I don't think any of these balms will be quite good enough for that wound. Is there a healer in the city?"

"A healer?" Ralof replied with a scoff. "I don't need a healer – this isn't so bad."

Forgetting her shyness, she took his arm in her hands and gently touched the red skin around the cut. Ralof flinched and almost pulled his arm back in reflex.

"I guess this might have contributed to you sleeping so bad," Milly said matter-of-factly. "You are going to sit down in front of the fire, and I am going to clean that wound."

Ralof looked at Milly, and at the determined look on her face, he did what she asked and exited the little bathroom.

Milly rummaged around for a few minutes, filling a small kettle and heating water to clean out the wound. She cleaned the wound in silence, then hesitated for a moment. It had been a while ago that she tended to wounds at the college, and even there, it wasn't her main point of focus. She wasn't the best at healing spells, but every little bit she could do would help.

She swallowed, but put her hands around Ralofs arm with determination. She concentrated and collected magic in the palm of her hand. It was soothing magic, blue magic, or as she liked to imagine it, tiny fireflies that flew into the wound and knitted the flesh back together. She willed the fireflies to penetrate the wound, to eat out everything that might cause infection, to stimulate the body's natural abilities to heal.

She poured all she had into the wound, and when there was nothing left, she opened her eyes. The wound was less red, but it hadn't fully healed yet. In fact, she was a bit disappointed her own abilities couldn't do more. That is what you get when you spend all your time in the College on alchemy, and don't mix it up with some more restoration.

Ralof sighed, startling Milly.

"Did I... hurt you?" she asked, suddenly uncertain.

Ralof looked at her. "No," he said, sounding relaxed. "It was rather pleasant, actually. I didn't expect you to do magic, but I could have guessed so after yesterday, with your little fire story."

The unguarded look Ralof gave her became a little too intense, and she quickly turned to the jar of cream and finished her work. She cursed her mind for the image it gave her of Ralof running his hands over her body again, and she doing the same to her with him. While she stored everything away, she was upmost gratefully that normal people couldn't read minds.

When she was done, she dropped down in a chair in front of the fire, sighing.

"Are you tired?" Ralof asked, walking into the room and buttoning a shirt. "You said you slept well."

"Well..." she replied. "I sort of sent all of my magic into you. That is always a bit fatiguing."

Ralof dropped down next to her, and she startled at a touch on her hands. She opened her eyes to find Ralof, leaning over to her with a hand on hers and a smile on his face.

"Thank you," he said sincerely.

For a moment, she could truly appreciate that it Ralof next to her, someone who could speak his mind, someone who could be kind and considerate.

"Milly, do you hear what I am saying?" Ralof said, popping her daydream. He smirked. "I'm wearing a shirt now, so don't say you are still affected by my stunning good looks. Really, I hadn't taken you for the shy girl. What I said is, put your shoes on. I think it's time for you to find your father, and time for me to find my sister. Come on."

Wait. Scrap that last one. Perhaps not so considerate. Cheeks red, Milly put her shoes and a cloak on and followed Ralof outside.

* * *

_AN: Second part of what was once was chapter 2. Hope you enjoyed these little moments! Cookie for all who read my story this far._


	4. Rainy Days

**Chapter 4. Rainy Days**

The day had been a horrid one, even though barely anything had happened. Milly was sleeping in between Ralof and her father on bedrolls in a small room next to the Dragonreach kitchen in Whiterun. The room was rather smoky and lacked fresh air and made Milly deeply uncomfortable.

Her father was snoring carelessly and Ralof was trashing around. Milly was surprised if he would not have caught ill in the morning... not considering how most of this day had passed.

They left in the early morning from Riverwood. Gerdur had given them brown bread to eat on the way and water in leather skins for drinking. The first hour the three of them walked in silence under an overcast sky, but then, before mid-morning, it began to rain. Gallons of water poured down from the sky in a steady stream, straight down in the absence of wind. The quantities were such that it restricted most of their view and it was hard to find the road sometimes. Their clothes weren't oiled, and in minutes they were soaked to the bone, freezing away. There was nowhere they could escape from the rain. There was no cottage or cave they could hide in, and the foliage was of no use to filter the rain. There was nothing more to it than to endure it, put one foot in front of the other and find their way to the promised city. They didn't rest much, only to eat some of the sodden bread Gerdur had given them, as they all agreed they wanted to reach Whiterun as quickly as possible.

The rain only intensified the gloomy atmosphere of the party. All three of them were lost in thought, lost in a world of their own and troubled so much, Milly was almost glad of the rain to wash away some runaway tears from her face.

The conversation between Milly and her father they had the previous day had left it shadow. Milly might be stubborn, but she didn't get that trait from a stranger. Her father could be a stubborn as he, and if he wanted something, there was nothing you could bring against it. Right now, the only thing on his mind was getting Milly back to Mournhold. So, that was it then.

It wasn't just that being send back to Mournhold made Milly sad. What made her most sad was the realisation that she would soon needed to say farewell to her father. Some part of her was glad to see her sister again, but the fear of a reunion with the city was bigger. When they arrived in Whiterun, it was only a matter of days before they found a carriage to put her on, and then it would be goodbye father, goodbye Skyrim, and goodbye Ralof.

Holgers gloominess was much the same as Milly's. While he wanted her to be safe, he dreaded their farewell. Somehow, he felt they had drifted apart since their conversation, and he feared that Milly would turn out to obtain a grudge against him for deciding her fate. He didn't want to part from Milly on those terms.

Ralof too, was feeling down, but for a whole different reason. It was always joyous to meet with his sister and her husband, to see how much Frodnar had grown, but his farewell was always so leaden. He led a dangerous life, what certainty did he have that he would see them again? His farewell to them might very well be a farewell for good.

It was around sunset that they arrived at the gates, though it was long dark and there were no pretty skies to behold. The guards at the gates were being an extreme bother.

"There are no visitors allowed in the city," the left guard stated. "The city is closed. Only official business is allowed."

Father sighed. "Official business, you say?" he repeated, tiredly. They were all hungry, cold and groggy and didn't feel like dealing with guards.

"We bring news from Helgen. About the dragon," Ralof began.

"About the dragon?" the other guard repeated. "That's what I would have said, if I wanted food and shelter. You go to the stables, they will take care of you."

"So you do know about the dragon?" Ralof tried. "We do have news about it. In fact, we were there when it first appeared and need to warn the Jarl about the danger."

"I've seen no dragons, but you're not the only one claiming to have seen it," the first guard replied. "Alright, we will let you in. The Jarl is in Dragonsreach, at the top of the hill. If you move fast, you might get an audience today."

It took them three quarters of an hour to find their way through the city and go to Dragonsreach. In their tiredness and in the dark rain, they hardly appreciated the city or the view or the beautiful castle at the top of the hills. Hardly anyone was seen on the streets, and those who were, either scurried along under a hood, or were homeless to begin with and sat down under what shelter they could find. A few guards walked along, cursing their jobs to keep an eye out on the streets. Light shone behind the windows, indicating candles, fire and warmth, but their eyes didn't fell on them, as they kept focussed to the road ahead, to the top of the hill.

When they were finally at the top of the stairs, the guards stationed at the door stopped them.

"No one enters the keep," he said sternly.

"Please," Ralof said, failing to repress his shivers and a cough. "We have news for the Jarl about the dragon. The guard at the gate already let us pass. And anyways, you should offered shelter to frozen travellers."

Seeing truth in those words, the guards opened the tall wooden doors for them.

The beauty of the room was mostly lost to the trio, as their view was obscured by an elderly woman whom greeted them.

"Good evening travellers. How can I help you?"

"We have news for the Jarl," Holger said. "We were at Helgen where the dragon attacked. It flew north and we fear Whiterun is in danger."

"O dear, I believe the Jarl is in a meeting concerning just that on the moment. You might have something to add. Proceed in the hall, the Jarl is just at the back."

And indeed, as they climbed some short stairs, they saw a man sitting on a big wooden chair, surrounded by several people. The moment the assembled people noticed them getting near, they stopped talking.

"Pardon, my Jarl," the lady said, bowing down in respect. "These three travellers might have some news for you."

It was silent for a while. Milly stared at the people in meeting. The Jarl was a middle aged man with a crown on his head and a look of authority. Next to him was a female Dunmer that looked at them disapprovingly, and at the other side, a Breton man with rich clothing and a man wrapped in a hooded cloak.

Holger did the speaking, tired as all of them were.

"Good evening, dear sirs," he began with a polite bow. Milly was observant enough to join his bow and made a curtsy. Having lived as a noble once had made sure she has her manners, after all. The gathered people looked like they meant business, and the female wore a rather ferocious looking sword at her side. It was best to be polite to such people, and at the very least, it wouldn't hurt to do so.

"We have news from Helgen," Holger continued. "And also from Riverwood, if you would oblige me."

The Jarl nodded. "You were at Helgen?" he asked. "Did you see the dragon with your own eyes?"

"We did," Holger replied solemnly.

"Gerda, fetch these travellers some stew and a drink," the Jarl commanded his servant. She bowed and retreated and they were invited to sit at the table in front of the Jarl's pedestal. It wasn't long before the housekeeper brought them bowls of food and a mug with hot milk with honey.

Meanwhile, Holger told the story of Helgen. It was pretty short, as he omitted the part where they were sentenced to death. He made it sound as if they just happened to be there and the dragon just arrived and destroyed the city.

"Last thing we saw, was the dragon flying north," he concluded. "For all we know, Whiterun, and possibly Riverwood, could be in grave danger."

The Jarl observed his accomplices.

"We shouldn't trust on the strength of walls in regards of a dragon," he said in earnest.

"My Jarl," the lady Elf said. She sounded like she meant business, too. "We should sent a delegation of guards to Riverwood. It needs some extra defence."

"Yes," replied the Jarl. "You are right, Riverwood is in need of more protection. If Helgen is destroyed, Gods forbid... Make sure the guards you sent are good archers, and sent a small delegation and a healer to scout for survivors and write a missive about the status of the city."

"Right away, sir." The Dunmer bowed down. "And I shall order the remaining guards to practise their archery skills. A dragon flies, after all."

"Good thinking. Thank you, Ireleth," the Jarl replied as she turned around.

"May I be so forward to ask all you know about these dragons?" Holger asked. His curiousity was such that he could hardly stand _not knowing_ any longer. The man in front of him was a Jarl, surely he or someone else at this court could offer him some answers.

"You may," the Jarl replied. "But I am afraid I'm not the right person to oblige you in this. My court wizard, however, has made a study of these dragons. But... He can be a bit difficult. Mages, you know," he said as an inside joke.

Milly gave a stifled cough. Mages, difficult? She was a mage!

"He is not to be disturbed after his dinner. I'll offer you a place to stay for a few days, and you are free to ask Farengar Secret-Fire all he knows at the dawning of a new day. Good night."

They bowed in courtesy before Gerda, the housekeeper, led them to a guest room. Unfortunately, this was not a lofty room as one might expect in a castle like this, but something that looked like a store room. Well, it was hot down there due to the kitchen being next to it, and it was dry. It might be smoky, but they weren't feeling very picky on the moment. Without going through the bother of undressing, they laid themselves down in the bedrolls and slept within minutes.

* * *

Ralof was ill. That much was clear. It was dark in the room, as there were no window, but Milly asked a candle from the kitchen servants as soon as she heard sound next-doors.

Her father was still snoring, but Ralof was sweating and breathing heavily. He had thrown his blankets off and his clothes were sticking to his skin. Milly's knowledge of illness was enough to know that this one was really nasty, if she was right on the origin.

With shaking hands, she unbuttoned his shirt and removed it. Looking at the wound on his shoulder made her wince. Her guess was confirmed: the wound had infected because of the bad weather they had yesterday.

"That doesn't look well," she heard her father say. He had woken up and was bowing over Ralof, examining his health.

"We need to find a healer," Milly replied. "Or, I could make him something myself if I can borrow the equipment."

"Well, we can catch two flies in one go, then," her father said. "I need to see the court wizard, and my guess is that he is best man to cure Ralof."

"Well, let us find him, then."

Farengar's room was on the other wing of the Castle. They found him a small room filled with maps, books, soul gems and strange equipment that could only be magical.

"Good morning," father began, carefully. The Jarl had warned them he was difficult, so it might be wise to approach this mage with caution.

"You must be Holger," the mage replied and turned away from the big map he was studying. "The Jarl told me I could expect you today."

"That is correct," father replied. "And this is my daughter, Milly."

She curtsied.

"Pleased," Farengar replied. "That is quite a flourishing bow so early on the day."

"I'm sorry, sir, I need to ask you for your help," she said. "Our friend – he's really ill. I wondered if you could help him. I mean, you are a mage after all."

The mage studied her. "That is correct," he said. "Fact is, I am neither a healer nor a alchemist. I might have the equipment," he pointed behind him, to a table cluttered with alchemy devices. "However, there lives a great alchemist in this city, Arcadia's cauldron, you can find her in the market area. She might be able to help you out."

"Sir, might I use your table, if I get the ingredients I need?"

"You're and alchemist, then?" Farengar replied, surprised. "But sure, you may use my equipment. Now, for your father, what might he use me for?"

"I understand you know a lot about dragons," Holger began. "I find myself curious about them, and wondered if you could tell me more."

Farengar sat down in his chair. "It is true," he answered. "I know a lot about dragons. It is a lot you ask me if you want all my knowledge. I have an offer to make you. I am in search of an object that is hidden not far from here, in Bleak Falls Barrows. If you can retrieve me what I look for, I will tell you what I know."

Farengar told what it was he was searching for, and how Holger could recognize it.

Gerda offered them breakfast and told she would move Ralof to a sickroom and give him a sponge bath.

As they finished their meal, the Jarl stopped by them.

"I heard Farengar sent you on a mission," he replied. "While it might not even be dangerous, we can lend you one of the guard armours and a horse to ease the road. It is still raining today, perhaps not so much as yesterday, but enough to be a bother. A horse will make it a lot quicker."

"Thank you," Holger replied. "It would be much appreciated."

He turned to his daughter.

"I'm going to Arcadia's," Milly said to him. "You – you'll be fine, won't you?"

"I still know how to fight," Holger replied. "I'll be back before you know it, and you will have nursed Ralof back to health by then."

And there it was – suddenly. She and her father would part ways. While Bleak Fall's Barrow, where her father was heading, wasn't far away, the point was that he would be going alone. They hadn't been separated since months like this – and what if her father truly ran into danger?

She hugged her father, willing the tears in her eyes to vanish.

"Now now, It'll only be a few days," father replied softly, patting her head. He grabbed something from his pocket and gave Milly the little pouch of money they had.

"Keep safe, Sugarpuffs," he said as he turned around to follow the Jarl to fit him into a breastplate.

_Sugarpuffs_? It must be over ten years ago that her father called her that. Milly wiped the tears away and headed to the door. Well, time to find the market district, then.

Whiterun was a lot more pretty in daylight. While it indeed was still raining, it was more of a slow drizzle that still allowed for sunlight to filter through. The light shone on the wed roofs of the buildings, bathing them in pale golden light. As she started her descent from the many steps towards the lower parts of the city, her eye fell on a building with a wooden roof that seemed to shine gold. It seemed old, older than the keep itself, with beautiful carvings on the roof, that was shaped like an upside-down ship.

As she walked on, she wondered what the building might be used for, and how she could have missed it yesterday. It sure had been dark, but they still must have noticed a building like that, right?

Concluding it must either be a library or a very old church or temple, Milly entered the market district. It wasn't hard to see she was at the right place, for there were market stalls all around, with harvest produces, meat, cheeses, fabrics, clothes, wicker baskets, flowers... Even in the rain the place was crowded, with children running around, mothers calling after them, maids doing hurried shopping to return to their rich families.

There were only a few shops located indoors. It wasn't hard to miss the right shop, for there was a huge carving of a cauldron on the front of the roof.

Inside, it was rather dark, a contrast to the brightness of daylight. The scents were calming here, with the familiar scent of sage incense, of bundles of lavender on the wall, but also unfamiliar plants, or plants that used to be rare, like the thistle she had seen on the road as a prisoner.

"Hello dear," the lady behind the counter said. "What can I help you with?"

"My friend is ill," she replied. "He has a bad wound that has infected during the night."

"O dear, o dear," the replied, and started rummaging through some cabinets. "I might have just the right salves for you."

"O," Milly replied. "I appreciate your help, but I am an alchemist myself. I'd like to make it all myself."

"You don't see a lot of young ones with such an alchemical ability. Are you from the College in Winterhold?"

"Actually, I am from the College in Mournhold," she confessed, while she browsed through the ingredients that were in display. She selected what she wanted and Arcadia started to wrap them.

"That really is far away. On a holiday, then? Do you have a warm, dry place for your friend to rest?" Arcadia asked.

"He rests up at Dragonsreach, in the castle," Milly replied. "He's well taken cared for now."

"Dragonsreach?"

Milly wasn't surprised that Arcadia was surprised. She was still wearing Gerdur's old dress that didn't really fitted her, and she had slept in it too. Come to think of it, she hadn't brushed her hair in the morning either.

"If you so me a favour, I'll give you these for free," Arcadia suggested. "I needed to deliver something to Jorrvaskr, and that will be just on your way. If you make my delivery, you can take your ingredients along. It is already been paid for, so no worries on that account."

"Sure," Milly said, taken aback. She didn't have much money and was glad with every coin she could keep. "It's only, I don't know what building you mean."

"First time in Whiterun?" Arcadia asked. "Don't worry, dear, you cannot miss it. Have you seen the big wooden building, apart from the other houses? That is the Companions mead hall, a guild of fighters. They're always in need of salves against sore muscles. I don't fancy walking all those stairs in this sort of weather, but they have paid for the delivery today."

Jorrvaskr, right? So, it was not a library, but a fighter's club!

"Consider it done," she said, and took the glass pot from the elder lady, together with her own wrapped ingredients.

"Thank you. And good health to you friend," she said as Milly left.

"Good day, and thank you," she smiled.

The market was still busy, but she refrained from taking a look at the stalls – she could hardly go shopping while Ralof was ill! Climbing the stairs, she kept an eye on the roof of the building. As she was in front of it, it was clear that it was rather imposing. It seemed old, older than any of the structures in the city, while it was still huge. Milly braced herself, and pushed the door open.

Inside, the hall was even more imposing. The entire building was made of wood, the massive roof resting on huge wooden beams that were decorated with carved knots. On the walls were round shields with coat of arms, stuffed animals, and faded tapestries that told stories of eras before living memory.

In the middle of the roof was a huge chandelier, positioned above pit of fire. Surrounding the fire, was a long table.

However, there didn't seemed to be anyone in the hall. As she stepped a little further, she noticed a tune. It was an odd tune, a tune so familiar to her she hardly noticed it at first. When they were young, they used to have a Dwemer music box that played music from perforated sheets of paper, and this tune was her mother's favourite. It was so contrasting to the utter Skyrim-ness of this room that Milly wondered at first if it hadn't been a memory, triggered by the melancholic state of the very room.

When it stopped, she knew she couldn't have imagined it. From one of the dark corners of the room emerged a Dunmer, carrying a flute. A Dunmer, here in Skyrim? She hadn't seen a lot of them. Well, at least he could explain the presence of Morrowind that lingered in the melody.

"I know that tune," Milly said.

"You do?" the Dark Elf replied, wonder in his voice.

"It's a pavane, a variant that is very popular in Morrowind."

There was a vision in her head of a ballroom in one of the mansions when she was little, where she stood overlooking the dancing couples, of dancing lessons and her sister's wedding.

"Are you lost here?" the Dark Elf asked, a little uncertain what this redheaded girl was doing here.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Milly replied, just as another person walked into the room. "I'm Milly Greenthorn. I just came from Arcadia, and she asked me to deliver this to you."

The second man turned out to be a lean Nord man with dark hair and light eyes.

"That is right," the man replied. "We did place an order." His eyes shone silver, even in the golden firelight.

Milly took the jar and gave it to him.

"It's muscle cream, she told me. And she said it had already been paid for."

"These things are too bloody expensive," the Dunmer said, shrugging. "But they're necessary for a group like us."

"The companions send their thanks for the delivery," the Nord added.

"You're welcome. This hall really is astonishing," Milly said as she lingered to take one last look. "Goodbye," she said with a smile when she felt she'd lingered long enough.

The men bid her goodbye too as the Dunmer hold the door open.

As she climbed the remaining steps to the keep, she cursed to herself how she could have entered a place like Jorrvaskr, looking like she did. She knew her hair turned horrid in this weather, one big fluff of orange framing her face, while the state of her dress was worse to wear. As she entered the castle, she forgot her worries. For the next one and a half hours she was busy in Farengar's alchemy study. She infused water with blue mountain petals, mudcrap chitin and juniper berries. She added some spirits and reduced the mixture by a third. Then she strained the water, making sure nothing was left behind. She dissolved honeycomb and beeswax in pine oil, allowed it to cool some and poured it slowly on the infused water to make a cream.

She took the strained flower petals, berries and chitin, added rooibos leaves, and made a tea. After it had infused sufficiently, she strained it again, pouring the liquid into a big cup and added honey. Storing everything away and putting her brews on a tray, she felt confident of herself.

"Impressive work from such a young lady," Farengar commented, and it was only then that she noticed that he was still in the room, in a corner with a book. "I really had figured you out more of a girl of dancing and music, than wit and knowledge. If her brews work and you still have something left, I would pay you for all the leftovers. We really need to replenish our stock of healing concoctions."

"I'll let you know if it worked," Milly replied, a little bashful of his words.

Well, time to work on her patient. Ralof was transferred to a room upstairs, a sort of small infirmary room with two beds. On his bedside table was a bowl of hot water and some blankets to sponge his head.

It was quite a difficulty to make Ralof drink the tea, but he managed without spilling too much. She unbound his wound and worked some more of her magic into him. She willed the small specks of light into the wound, lift out the infection, and clean everything when they left. She applied a generous amount of her cream onto the reddened skin and bound it again.

The rest of healing must come from Ralof himself – and with a bit of luck, his body would agree to the medication soon.

* * *

_I apologize for the long wait! Real life is busy – working, visiting London for a future 6-month internship and whatnot. And behold, it's almost Christmas again! I really wanted to get the next chapter up in the holiday week, as I really like it, but I first needed to struggle myself through this chapter. So, next one will be up still in 2012! _

_And what is a better day to update than in the very early hours of December 22nd, knowing you have survived the end of the world? Well, for those living in the States or anywhere else in the "negative" time zone, good luck with surviving the end of the world! _

_Again, if you find any english mistakes or thoughts about this all, feel free to point them out to me. And I really appreciate reviews, they certainly motivate me to write quicker! Love, e-Sidera  
_


	5. A Nord Way of Life

**Chapter 5. A Nord Way of Life**

It was still early in the morning when Ralof awoke. He felt strangely rested, as if waking from a full day's sleep. Come to think of it, he _had_ slept for a whole day. His arm was freshly bound and didn't hurt at all anymore. The sky outside was turning to the beautiful spectrum of orange and pink – the colour of a new day. It barely illuminated the room, but his eyes were rather perceiving of light and it was just enough to see by.

At his bedside table was a glass of honey coloured liquid, a jar and a bowl of water with a folded piece of cloth. The stump of a died out candle had melted over its candleholder.

His eyes trailed to the big chair next to the bed. Rolled up in it, her head and hands on the armrest, slept Milly. Her breathing was as silent as could be, but he could see her back falling and rising ever so lightly. A waterfall of red hair covered her face. Next to her was an empty plate with leftover crumbs from food.

He didn't have any real memory from the day before when he had been ill, but there were vague shards of thrashing around under the covers, delirious in his fever, and of a soft voice telling him to calm down, telling tales while his arm got tended and bound again. It was only now that he realised that Milly must have nursed him back to health – and successfully, that was clear. She must have fallen asleep in the process.

He felt quite awake, refreshed with new energy and he never was one to remain in bed just to be lazy. He pushed the covers away and threw his feet over the edge of the bed. Huh. One of the wooden beams of the bed cracked as he raised, and Milly stirred.

She dug through a curtain of hair before her sleepy face emerged.

"It's – it's still night," she said in a sleepy voice. "You... you awake? How do you feel?"

"I am fine," Ralof replied in a soft voice. "Don't bother about me. You can sleep on."

"No," she shot back, crawling from her chair. "I need to look at your wound."

He wanted to say it wasn't necessary, but he knew Milly wouldn't listen to him and do whatever she pleased anyway.

"Wait," she said, before she got to her feet.

She brought an arm to her chest and closed her eyes. She muttered silently, seeming to concentrate on something, and opened her hand. A thousand tiny golden specs of light erupted from her palm, shooting up above her head, and clotted together. The result was an orb of golden light, just bright enough to see well by.

It was a rather amazing spectacle.

"Pretty, right?" Milly grinned quietly. "I practised last night while tending to you. Thought something like this must come in handy if the candles burned down."

He smiled back. "Impressive."

"Nah, not really," Milly shrugged as she got up and unwrapped his bandages. She observed his wound. "You can call this impressive, though," she said appreciably. "I knew my alchemy skills wouldn't abandon me. It might leave a scar but it's well on its way to heal."

He tried to look at it, but as it was at the back of his arm, he couldn't see it anyway. He flexed his muscle, stretched his arm. "Feels pretty healed to me," he agreed.

Milly took the honey coloured liquid from the table and pressed it in his hand. "This might be cold, but it is still effective. And I'm going to put a last bit of cream on there, just to be sure."

It was quite relaxing to have Milly massaging the cream into his skin while he sipped the cold tea. The skin wasn't sensitive anymore.

"This is pretty amazing, Milly," he said when she was finished.

"Well," she reasoned, looking at him with a bit of a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I did tell you it was my Alchemy skills that got me into trouble in Cyrodiil. I didn't lie about those skills, you know."

"Ever so humble. But you might have a truth to your bragging, this time," he replied with a smirk.

She grinned before she yawned, letting herself drop back on the bed. She was obviously tired and while he was wide awake – why shouldn't she get a chance to get back to sleep?

She stifled a yelp and flayed her feet as he suddenly picked her up from the bed.

"What - ?" she began.

"I'm awake now, but you are clearly still tired," he interrupted, carrying her to the other side of the room, trying not to get hit by her struggling arms. The orb of light followed Milly, happily dancing along in the air. "I won't let you sleep in my infected bed, but there's a fresh one there."

He dropped her on the second bed.

She was silent for a few seconds.

"I could have walked, you know," she finally replied.

"Well, I had to test the strength of my arm, didn't I?" he replied, a smirk on his lips.

He secretly enjoyed the exasperated look Milly gave him while he pulled the blankets over her.

As she huffed, he looked around the room.

"You don't happen to know where my clothes are, do you?"

"Do I look like I know where they could be?" she replied dryly. "They took our clothes for cleaning. I got some old ones to wear, yesterday. I do seem to live on charity, recently."

Well, then he just needed to walk around the castle, half-naked to find someone who could give him something to wear. Not something to look forward to.

"In case you want it, there is a cloak over the back of the chair," Milly said with a yawn, indicating to the chair.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to go half-naked now. He looked at the orb of light that floated above the bed. He swatted at it, trying to scatter the little specs, to make the light disappear. The specs were quite cool, not hot like a flame, but they remained clotted together.

"How do you get rid of it?" he asked as he was unsuccessful.

Milly gave a light chuckle. "That's the only catch," she said ruefully. "I haven't quite figured that part out yet."

Ralof shook his head, smiling in silent affection at this declaration while he grabbed to cloak from the chair, pulling it around himself.

"Sleep well," he said to Milly, exited the room and closed the door behind him. So. Time to find out how this castle really looked like.

* * *

Ralof was just about to start looking for some lunch when he saw Milly. Her hair was cleanly brushed and arranged in smooth curls over her back. She hadn't noticed him, and she was walking around awkwardly, picking at the dress she was wearing, avoiding the gaze of passerby's.

"Ralof!" she called happily as she spotted him. "Back to health and fully cleaned, I see."

"So do you," he replied.

"Well," she said awkwardly. "Gerda gave me a new dress to wear again, but really, they are so _big_. And I won't fir children dresses because they have no shape."

Ralof smiled at her whining as he could only appreciate the faded brown dress on her. The neckline was a little too low for sophisticated daywear, alluring even though she wasn't exactly well-endowed like most Nord girls. She wore a belt that she had knotted snugly that complimented her small waist and made the skirt flare over her curved hips.

The image of him searching her, in the white mountains at the border, was bright in his mind.

She was oblivious to his looks, and luckily also of his thoughts.

"Well, I'm hungry," she stated in a rather unfeminine manner. Usually, a lady couldn't complain about being hungry. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to find myself something to eat."

She turned on her heels and looked over her shoulder to see if he was following her. "Sure," he said. "It's getting lunchtime for me."

There was a nice array of cold meats from yesterday's dinner, accompanied by apples and fresh bread and milk.

"I was planning on strolling through the city this afternoon," he suggested while he was finished eating. "If you'd like, I can show you around some of the nice places. Show you an evening of real Nord entertainment. I'm born here, after all."

Milly looked taken aback. "You are? Do you still have family living here?"

"Nah," he replied. "I only have Gerdur in Whiterun." It was true, his parents died a few years ago, and his aunts and uncles lived in other cities. "Speaking of family, where is your father?"

He liked Holger and was interested in his history – for who is born in Solstheim, marries in Mournhold, decides to do Archeology in Cyrodiil, and then winds up in Skyrim? And well, it would be good to get to know him better if he was to join the rebellion.

"He's on a mission," she answered, her face sad. "He's off to fetch something for the court wizard and will be back in a few days."

"A few days?" He had wanted to continue on to Windhelm the next do or possibly the one afterwards. "I guess I will wait for him to return before I'm off to Windhelm."

"He would have thought you would take some more time healing and he and your health would return on the same time."

"What, he doesn't even have confidence in your quick healing skills?" he teased.

She turned pink. "Well, I must say you healed quicker than I would have imagined," she replied, suddenly shy.

He stared at her. What an ambiguous girl. One moment she was all words and tales, and the next she was a heap of blushing and shyness. It was almost a shame he wouldn't really get to know her, as she was going back to Mournhold when Holger returned.

"That's because I have a remarkable constitution," he bragged, and raised from his chair. "Come on, Milly."

She quickly raised and followed him, tugging at her dress to make sure it didn't drag six inches over the flour.

For the rest of the afternoon, they strolled through the city. He told stories of the city, about the dying tree in the square in front of Jorrvaskr and the temple, told stories of the time when he lived here. He saw some people he recognized, some he made some small talk to, or some whom had forgotten about him and made him whisper bad children secrets to Milly, who laughed in reply. It was odd to see the house he had been born in. He had been seven when they moved, so his own memories were mixed with vague ones, sometimes to the point where you cannot distinguish if you remember something of your accord or merely through all the stories.

At the market, Milly wanted to take a look at some of the dresses stalls, and he saw Carlotta, someone he recognized from his youth.

"Recognise me?" he asked.

"Ralof?" she said through squinted eyes. "Yes, it really is you. How are you doing? Your sister is doing well of herself in Riverrun, I have heard. And you – still with Ulfric Stormcloak?"

He chuckled. "Why the scorn in your voice?" he said. "But yes, I'm still with him."

A small child ran towards Carlotta, chattering about a butterfly she almost caught.

He was taken aback.

"Your daughter?" he asked, as the little girl had fluttered away again.

"That is true," Carlotta replied, and he heard pride in her voice. "You don't know what a motivation it is, having a child."

"I'm just surprised to see you married," he answered. The grinned. "There go all my fantasies of being married to the prettiest girl in Whiterun."

"No," Carlotta grunted. "Not married. Awfully harassed by all Whiterun men, free or married, that is true. I swear, they are such a bugger."

"Not married?" He wondered what the story was of the daughter. Having kids, but not being married? Her father wouldn't be too pleased.

"Have you not finally caught yourself a girl? I thought you were with a girl from Helgen?"

"Years ago," he replied darkly. The stupid girl cheated on him. There goes his first love.

As he stared in the distance, he saw Milly waving and getting near.

"They don't have anything in my size," she moped. "And it would take too long to commission for a dress. Really, I wish I had my sister's talent. She could turn a rag into something beautiful and luxurious."

Milly hadn't noticed him speaking to Carlotta, but as he looked to the side, he saw that the older woman's eyes were gleaming.

"So, this is your new girl?" she said gleefully.

Milly stopped chattering and swallowed her words. What is it, that everyone that sees you with someone from the other sex, they automatically assume that it must be your newest fiancée?

"I'm just showing her the city," he replied. "Milly, this is an old friend of mine, Carlotta."

"Pleased," Carlotta said, her eyes still shining. "Your hair is so pretty, my dear."

"It is?" Milly replied a bit stunned, and petted her hair. "Well, thank you." She smiled.

Ralof observed Milly. Carlotta was right. Milly's red hair _was_ pretty, complimented her round, freckled face nicely.

"Well, if you're showing the city, you should eat at the Bannered Mare," Carlotta suggested. "It has changed ownership, the apple stew really is superb."

"We'll try it out. Thanks, Carlotta," he said.

"Anytime," she replied. "Keep well, Ralof. And here, an apple for both of you."

They walked on, biting their apples.

"She's really pretty," Milly said a bit quietly. "I can imagine her being popular."

They walked a last round through the city before trailing up to the Bannered Mare in sunset. It was already filled with people, the smell of ale and mead heavy in the air, mixed with cloves and allspice from the stew. No matter that the sun hadn't fully set, a bard was singing a bawdy song and some people were already dancing in the middle area. A group of middle aged men were playing cards and smoking in a corner, and next to them a group of young men were eyeing two sisters, who were batting their eyelashes to the bard.

Ralof ordered two helpings of stew and two goblets of mead, one small and one large and looked for the quietest empty table. Turned out there was only one empty table left, so they headed to that one, next to the card playing men. Milly was looking around in such astonishment she didn't say a word to him. He wondered she was reminiscing the utter Nord environment she was in.

A Nord environment that was funnily enough catered by a Redguard woman.

Milly eyed her small goblet of mead and Ralof's one, that was at least twice at big.

"You thought I couldn't have drank all of that?" she asked, narrowing her eyes.

Truly? He didn't doubt that she was be out cold if she drank a pint of mead. She was rather small, and probably wasn't used to heavy mead like this.

"I just don't feel to need to carry you back later," he replied instead. "You might have noticed there are quite a few stairs."

She looked at him accusingly, then looked next to her at the sound of a small commotion. One of the young men that had been ogling the sisters had finally gathered his courage and had grabbed the older sister in her rear, resulting in a slap on the cheek. The men were laughing at their friends and others were jeering for the girl, that she stood up for herself.

"Is this usually how it goes around here?" she asked in big eyes as she turned around again.

"Well, were are mostly Nords, aren't we? We have to live up to our reputation, don't we?" he replied with a smirk. He could hardly imagine what Milly would do if any of the men here touched her. The thought gave him a weird reaction, some sort of need to protect this little girl against a world she clearly wasn't born for.

"This is pretty strong," Milly said as she sipped the mead.

"I told you so," Ralof grinned in reply, suddenly a bit uncomfortable here.

For the next moment, they both ate from their stew.

"Well, that Carlotta was true, this really is delicious," Milly said happily.

It was. In the back of the room, a couple was making out quite obscenely. For him, being in such an environment felt like home, as if this was the most normal thing there was. Or perhaps because only Nord girls were blunt enough to agree to such public display.

Milly had followed his eyes and was eying the couple with a frown on her face. The light of the candle on the table lit her hair prettily, like her hair was surrounded with fire, making her fierce. He wondered how old she was.

"Have you ever been loved?" he suddenly asked, ignoring how rude and privet this question actually was.

She was grown off guard. "Why would you ask?" she replied, her eyes big again.

Why would he, indeed? Perhaps he just wondered how much life experience she had.

"It must be hard to leave a city you've lived your whole life, leaving all loved ones behind," he said instead. "And then you settled yourself into a new city, and had to leave that one too."

Suddenly there was a wicked smile on her face, as she said timidly, "well, once I was engaged."

That was an answer so unlike he expected, if he expected anything at all, that he halted his spoon mid-bite.

"Engaged?" he repeated. "What happened?"

The wicked smile glided from her face. "I was just eight when the engagement was made, and then it was broken off. My family used to be nobility because my mother was nobility. I used to have a friend when I was little with whom I played around a lot, sneaking around the city, stealing tarts from the market, spying on conversations... and well, our mothers made the engagement. We were so young we hardly realised what it meant.

But then, my mother died. The nobles had always disliked my father because he was an old soldier, a Nord one at that. The mother of my fiancé broke the thing off."

There was a sad smile on her face for a moment, before she continued. "Well, I don't really mind. He was a friend. Even though we still met every once in a while, I don't think he ever really loved me. He engaged himself to a Breton girl the month before I left." She shrugged. "I guess he would be happier with her. He's a real gentleman now, and I never really enjoyed playing the noble lady." There was that wicked smile again, painted over the sad one. "It's just not for me. Too much etiquette, embroidery. And you don't get to have any opinion of yourself. You see that clashes with me."

She blinked a few times when the story was over, as if she surprised herself with telling it, and continued to eat. It was clear she was upset over this boy. And while she might say etiquette was not for her, she was what he imagined how nobility acted. Perhaps not her snarky side, but the way she walked, although a bit clumsy, the way she nodded politely to strangers, the way she managed to eat stew and drink mead with such poise.

He tried to form an imagine of how her fiancé might have looked like and started to dislike the man without knowing him. He must be one of those stick-in-the-muds men who thought they were the best because they had so much knowledge and class, but didn't know the first thing about being a _man_.

"Well, you asked me about my love life," Milly interrupted his musings. "How about yours? Don't you have a lady waiting somewhere for you?"

Really, that was all there was to her lovelife? A fiancé when she was eight? No one wooing her while dancing, not even a fellow mage at the College?

He smirked. "Milly, if I told you about my love life, you might faint," he replied.

He might not be such a playboy like a lot of Nords, and didn't do anything on public display like the snogging couple, but he had some affaires that Milly certainly would think of as _impure_.

He didn't have the time to have a real relationship, and the only girl he ever had something steady going on with, cheated on him in the end. He had occasional one night stands that kept him going, however.

His last tumble had been about a month ago in Falkreath, The Nord girl had had white blonde hair and a rather splendid curvy body, and she was so intrigued by his story of the danger he was stepping into, that she was only too willing to please his every whim. For all that might happen, she could be his last, after all. And well, he had been rather drunk that night, courtesy of his friends. Luckily he could still remember it.

Somewhere in reliving his glorious memories, the girl changed into Milly. He shook his head to wipe the thought off, and finished the last bit of his mead.

As he put the tankard on the table, one of the young men was standing in front of Milly.

"I eyed you across the room, fair lady with the flaming hair," he said with a flourish. "And I thought, I cannot remember myself such a refined beauty. You must be from the land of the angels. Let me do you the honour of showing you around with a dance."

Milly seemed to be at a loss for words and stared at the man with pink cheeks, looking quite flattered.

The young man had a rather charming smile and stretched his hand out, ready for Milly to take it.

"Mate," Ralof replied instead, in a dangerous voice. There was no doubt he could outmatch this twig of a man. "It would be best if you moved on. Now."

"The lady could have answered herself. Pardon me," he said with a bow to Milly. "I didn't realise you were already taken." He took her hand and pressed his lips to them, just fast enough so that Ralof couldn't scold him for it.

Milly stared as the man was walking back to his friends, who all jeered at her.

"Oh please," he said, annoyed. "Don't say you feel flattered just because he called you _lady_. And don't flatter yourself. They do that with everything female that enters through the door. He just wanted to know if you were easy."

Milly looked at him, hurt.

Then he wanted to curse himself. It was unfair to be blunt to Milly if this wasn't her fault. And if she really was so inexperienced, she didn't know how to compose herself to the other sex. The way she stared at him now, the hurt, made him swallow his pride.

"Sorry," he replied in a low voice. "Just realised I did you a favour. His words might have been flattering, but his thoughts weren't."

"It's not like I would ever go along with one of them," Milly replied, scorn in her voice. "You might think differently of me, but I'm not naive."

Even though she tried to hold herself steady, there was still hurt in her eyes. And there was realisation, the understanding how different this Nord environment was to the noble society Milly grew up in. He was lucky to be born in Skyrim. People here lived in free spirit, living day by day. Things like love and sex were part of that free lifestyle. Sure Nords did feel true love, but they were just so much more direct in it. They weren't used to courting, serenading under the moonlight, swooning and etiquette. They acknowledged that everyone has their needs, and while they might play hard to get at times, they were far more complying.

The noble society wherefrom Milly came, was the exact opposite. Everything was about outward appearances, etiquette. Even things like love had their own rules, and could something as free as love ever listen to rules?

Ralof raised, stretching out a hand to Milly.

"Come on," he urged. "I promised you Nord entertainment. It's hardly entertainment if there's no dancing involved."

Milly looked up to him, anxious. "But I don't know your dances."

"There is nothing difficult to it. Come on and I'll show you."

He suddenly felt he owed Milly something, and the only thing he could think of was a dance. He flashed her a smile, a smile that he knew not a lot of girls could resist.

She couldn't, as she put her own hand in his and let him pull her to her feet. He guided her to the middle of the tavern, where there already were other people dancing.

Anxiously, Milly looked around.

"People will _see_ this," she stated, as if that was a mortal crime.

"So?" he replied, flashing her his smile. "Who cares about other people. Here, let me show you the basic steps..."

She startled as he put his free hand on her back, but she put her own hand on his shoulder. She was a natural. He only had to show her the steps once before she could follow them, almost with more finesse than himself. She looked... graceful, which was odd, as Milly didn't struck him as a particular _graceful_ girl at all. Composed, sure, but graceful was something else entirely.

"My sister was almost so much better," she said, her cheeks pink in excitement. "I never really was a born dancer."

Even though she was the better one here, she followed him obediently, like the lady ought to do. There was an imagine in his mind, of how she must look like at a noble ball, dressed in a corset and a red velvet gown with a ruby between her breasts.

"Well... This is not what they say Nord dances is all about," she said, shaking him out of his reverie.

He looked down at her. "Then what is it they say?"

She showed her wicked smile. "Back in Mournhold they say that about everything a Nord does is coupled with an overdose of alcohol. You are not known for sophisticated dancing."

It was his time to smirk back. "I thought to spare you of the alcohol. If we did this the way it's supposed to be, you'll be out black and don't remember anything in the morning. Just imagine you've had about eight of those goblets of mead."

She scoffed, then reminded herself of something. "Even though, you still know how to dance."

"Don't flatter me, girl," he smirked.

She raised an eyebrow, just as he turned her in a flourish, saving him from the comment she was about to make.

After some more dancing, she observed something new.

"You're not like I imagined a Nord man to be," she said.

"You haven't seen me drunk," he replied. Not that ever was bad while he was drunk. He was more likely to fall asleep in the corner of a tavern than be a pervert.

"I was _trying_ to give you a compliment," she said, annoyed.

"Hmmm..." he muttered, when she didn't seem to speak on. "Continue, then."

She sighed. "It's just that there is something in you that seems trustworthy," she said, looking up. "You remember, when we first met, at the mountains? Jarl Ulfric wanted me and my father searched for weapons. I was really scared, you know. All of the soldiers were jeering, but not you. And then you stepped forward, and I don't know. There was something in you that made me feel safe. So I let you touch me, while I would never had let myself touched by any of the others. I'm not usually one that trusts easily. Yet I trusted you."

It was so easy how she confessed this. He knew this about himself, he hated this about himself. He hated it if people felt truly uncomfortable because of him. He liked people to like him, most of the time. He would never harass anyone, not even when he was drunk. Alright, he liked his petty teasing, but that hardly ever hurt anyone. But his thoughts after she had just mentioned him touching her, weren't exactly innocent.

"A Nord can act like a gentleman too, if he wants to," was what he replied.

They danced on, both mused in thought.

"It's odd that in some more than a week, I'll be back in Mournhold," Milly said. "I used to hate dancing, you know," she added.

"You sound melancholic," Ralof noted.

"I am not." Milly sounded bitter. "I don't want to return. Would you want to return to a place where everyone looks down on you, because you are fallen nobility, because you decided to go to the College instead of studying art and dancing. Would you want to return to a place where you're all alone?"

The last thing she said was so quietly, he could have imagined it.

"Your sister is there," he replied.

"But it will mean leaving my father, probably never to see him again."

"You will be safe," he said.

She leaned back, wanted to remove herself from his arm, but he locked her in his grip.

"It's not like my father will be safe in the war, and neither will you," she shot back.

"But we are experienced at these things," his simple answer was.

She tried to struggle, but he pulled her closer.

"It's not a disgrace," he whispered in her ear. "It's alright to be safe."

She tip-toed, whispered something back in his ear. "What value does that life has if you have is safety?"

He was surprised as she buried her head in his shoulder. He guessed she must be crying silently.

It was difficult, he thought, losing all you had. He was glad he had something to fight for, some cause worth defending.

But then he thought, is this war so just? Weren't his enemies fighting for the same thing, a cause they thought worth defending? And what could possibly justify killing... And yes, he had killed. Young, old, short, tall... He remembered the look in their eyes as he made an end to their life. And he wondered, was his cause really worth dying for?

He embraced Milly. All he know was that she needed to be miles away when the threatening war burst free.

* * *

AN: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays, everyone! :D It's almost Christmas eve here, and time for me to start making dinner. Tomorrow presents under the tree and the big family dinner! However you celebrate your holidays, I wish you lots of love, food and warmth.

I promised to upload this chapter still in 2012, and I thought, hell, let's make it a Christmas present. Sorry for the cheesy last line, but I had to keep it in the Christmas atmosphere. Next chapter is almost finished, I hope to get it out on New Years day, if the holidays don't ask too much of my time! (reviews help! Thanks KrystylSky!) Love, e-Sidera


	6. A Proposition

**Chapter 6. A Proposition**

Before she opened her eyes, Milly had her resolution. Where it came from, or when it changed from epiphany to a final decision, she didn't know. Perhaps she had gotten it in her dreams, or just before going to sleep. Or, maybe she had known it since yesterday morning.

It didn't matter when she had gotten it. She knew what she was going to do now.

Ralof, in the bed next to her, was still asleep, his face turned away from her. Without making a sound, Milly slipped out of her bed. As she exited the room, she nearly bumped into Gerda.

"Good morning," the housekeeper greeted. "I have found something that might fit you." The woman gave Milly a bundle of burgundy velvet. "It's an old dress that belonged to the Jarl's family. Nobody fits it, and when Dagny is old enough to fit in it... Well, she will never agree to wearing something second-hand. You can keep it, as a thanks for the healing cream you gave us."

"Well, thank you," Milly replied, not expecting to have found Gerda this early and to be given something new to wear.

"If you go next doors, the water in the bath might still be warm enough."

Milly thanked the housekeeper again and entered the little bathroom. There was a wooden tub filled with water that was still lukewarm. She quickly washed herself and turned to the bundle of fabric. It turned out to be a dress, which was, although rather old-fashioned, still pretty. It was mostly unadorned, but for the twenty or so brass buttons that closed the bodice to just under her chin. The cut of the piece – the collar, the sleeves, the hemline – were outdated, but it fitted her well enough. It was a little too loose in the waist and chest, but at least it didn't drag over the floor.

She observed herself in the mirror. Her appearance struck her as odd. It had only been ten days ago that she had living carelessly in Cheydinhall, and now she looked so different. There were still the same freckles on her face, her eyes were still the same tone of green, her face was still round... But somehow it felt like a stranger was staring back at her. She guessed so much had happened that she still needed to get used to her new self. There was a thin line of a healed wound on her cheek, and the palm of her hand was still scarred. But it wasn't that – it was something in the gleam of her eyes, the line of her mouth that struck her as different.

Wafting the thought away, she brushed her hair and twisted it a simple knot. Whomever she looked like, she looked decent enough for the day.

She ate quickly, nervous in expectation of how this day might turn out. She braced herself as she stepped down the long stairway leading down from Dragonsreach.

"Good morning, m'lady," the guard greeted as she passed him. Startled, she replied with a good-day and walked on. Was it the dress that suddenly made her look like a lady?

The sun was shining brightly now, bathing the roof of Jorrvaskr in golden rays. Checking her reflection in the nearby fountain and concluding no hair was out of line, she knocked on the big doors and entered the building.

It wasn't what she had expected. It had been so _empty_ the last time, but now there were a dozen people in the hall, jeering over commotion in the open space next to the large table. In the circle of people, the Dunmer she had seen before was fighting with a Nord woman.

She stood nailed to the doorstep, not noticed by any of the people. Somewhere her mind told her to turn around, exit the hall, and bolt for the Keep.

"Can I help you with something?" a voice asked just as Milly wanted to agree to her inner voice.

A Nord man had stepped in front of her. He looked like the man she had seen before, with the same startling bright eyes, but this man's hair was longer and his overall figure was much more muscled.

His tone had been friendly, Milly realised, and she needed to answer his anticipating stare.

"Well," she stammered, looking uncertain to the fighting couple.

"Just ignore them," the man suggested. "This is just our way to sort things out."

Milly shifted her gaze to the man. His eyes really were penetrating, so light they seemed otherworldly. She shook her head and tried to collect her wits. She was here for a mission, after all.

"I am Milly Greenthorn," she introduced herself. "And I am here with a proposition."

"Sure," the man replied. "I am Farkas. What kind of proposition do you have?"

The fight was over in favour of the woman, and slowly everybody in the room noticed Milly. Alright, a mission with pressure then. Milly inhaled deeply.

"I delivered an ointment from Arcadia, the day before yesterday," she began.

"That's true," the Dunmer replied, tending to a sore spot on his arm. "Well, you sound the same and are just as small, but you look quite differently." He looked her up and down, and at his word, the others in the room did just the same.

"Well, yes," Milly replied, getting pink in the face at remembering how awfully she had looked. "I heard you complaining over how expensive the cream was. I'm new here in this city – and actually I'm an alchemist myself. I thought, I could offer you my services. A group of fighter surely must benefit from having an alchemist living under your roof, and I, well, I will quite benefit from having a roof over my head."

"And who say's you're any good?" the Dunmer asked.

"I have had training in a College for quite some years, and I used to own a shop in Cyrodiil. I can prove my abilities, if that is what you ask."

She was proud of herself. While her insides were churning, she thought she looked quite confident.

"She could?" the Nord woman who had been fighting said. "Oh, that must be good."

"I see some truth to her words," another Nord woman said. She was wearing a set of quite revealing armor. "I say let's bring her to Kodlak. Farkas, you can do the honours."

"Alright," Farkas replied. "Follow me, girl."

_Girl_? So much for the dress making her look like a lady. Well, at least he'd said it kindly. They went downstairs to a rather extensive stone basements. There were doors and corridors branching from it, but they followed the central corridor to a set of double doors.

"Kodlak..." Farkas said. "In name he's our Harbringer, our advisor, but he as good is our leader. He's a kind man. I think he would see the benefit to your offer, if you really are as good as you say."

"Don't worry, I am," Milly replied resolutely. It was the only thing she'd really been good at. Or, perhaps not they only thing, as she remember sneaking around the city with her fiancé, spying on people. She was still amazed she was hardly ever caught.

"That we will have to see," Farkas said with a smile as he opened the doors for her.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the room.

It was an office. At the table sat two men. One of them was an elderly bearded man, clearly Kodlak. The other man was the light-eyed man she had seen two days ago, unmistakably Farkas' brother. Both of them were looking at her.

"Eh... Good morning," she began. "My name is Milly Greenthorn, and I came here with an offer.

She got nervous as she noticed the way the light-eyed man was looking at her. His brother had seem so kind, but this man was looking at her with a furrowed brow, distrustful. She focused on the older man as she felt the light-eyed man eyeing her up and down as if he tried to remember her.

"Sure, Milly, sit down," Kodlak said, offering her a chair. "I am Kodlak Whitemane."

As she sat down at the table, the young man raised, as if he didn't want to sit at the same table as her. He didn't leave the room, however.

"I am new to this city," she began. "I'd like to stay here, but I will need somewhere to stay for that and a job to sustain me. I am an alchemist, but as you already have an alchemist here, I thought it was no use to open a shop. A few days ago, I delivered a package here from Arcadia. I thought it must be very unfortunate for a group of warriors like you to need to ask for deliveries all the time, as you might be in quite some need of potions, infusions and creams. What if you instead had your own alchemist living under your roofs, ready to make whatever you required?"

Feeling she had to conclude this somehow, she added. "So that is what I offer. I could make you whatever you wanted if I lived under your roofs."

Feeling calmly, she looked at Kodlak in anticipation.

He observed her over his folded hands. "That is an interesting offer," he replied after a moment. "I can certainly see the benefits of having an alchemist living under our roofs. However, we have no proof if you are as good as Arcadia. She had always made our potions well, although being quite expensive. You seem quite young to be as studied as her."

"I have trained for years at the College in Mournhold," she replied. "I've had a shop in Cyrodiil for a while, too."

"Mournhold?" Kodlak repeated. "It is a well-known College of good esteem, if you have your credentials."

Milly turned a shade of pink. "Unfortunately, I was robbed at the border," she replied, hating to lie but not being able to tell the truth without sitting here all morning to explain everything. "I can assure you I have studied there, however."

"Well, let me offer you something in return," Kodlak said. "I will give you a trial period of two weeks. If we are content with your abilities, you can stay."

Milly couldn't believe her ears.

"That sounds very reasonable, sir," she replied. "I will not disappoint you."

"Master, you can't be sure about accepting her?" the light-eyes man said, speaking for the first time. Milly turned to look at him. What, why would he have anything against her?

"I am nobody's master, Vilkas," Kodlak replied calmly. "We still have empty beds in Jorrvaskr, and wouldn't we increase our own esteem if we hire more people? Not to say we would greatly benefit to having an alchemist living in our ranks."

"You trust this stranger?" Vilkas replied, acid in his voice as he stared at Milly.

_Trusted_ her? That was an odd thing to say. What kind of threat did he think she was to them? Did he think she was going to poison them?

"I see no reason not to trust Milly," Kodlak answered, his tone resolute. He turned to her, and his eyes were kind. "When do you want to start your trial period, girl?"

She was relieved he didn't listen to that Vilkas.

"In a few days, sir," she replied, avoiding to look at Vilkas. "I'll have to wait for my father to return from a mission, but when he returns, I'm yours."

"I look forward to testing your abilities," Kodlak said courteously. "I'll make sure a room is prepared for you. We will talk more when you return."

"As you please, sir," Milly said, standing and giving a flourishing curtsy.

"Vilkas, please see this girl out," Kodlak commanded the younger man.

"Yes, sir," he replied, and without looking at her, he opened the door for her. Milly followed him and was determined not to say anything to this awful man, when he didn't even say anything himself. Then she felt she _had_ to say something.

"I am not going to poison you, if that is what you fear," she said in a low voice.

Vilkas turned his head to the side, acid in his silver eyes.

"I am not afraid of poisoning," he replied. "I just see no need for a silly little girl like you to be in a group of warriors like us."

Milly wanted to say something, but his hateful reply shocked Milly so much she was at a loss for words. She followed Vilkas in silence until they went upstairs and reached the large hall.

"And?" Farkas replied, who was standing near the stairs. "Are you our new sister?"

Milly was glad to have a friendly person talking to her. She looked around as she noticed that Vilkas had descended the stairs again without saying anything. Well, what a distasteful man.

"Please ignore him," Farkas said. "It's in his nature to dislike strangers. It's nothing personal. But? What did Kodlak say?"

"He's going to give me a trial period," she replied, smiling at this thought. "I'll be starting in a few days."

"Good," Farkas replied. "What say you, new sister? Care to meet the rest of us and get a little tour? Or do you have somewhere to go?"

"No," Milly replied. "A tour would be lovely." She smiled.

* * *

She had a nice day, in the end. She was introduced to the rest of the Companions, and none of them was really as bad as Vilkas. Some of them might seem a bit sceptical about her, but they weren't downright hostile. She shared lunch with them, and then was persuaded to eat dinner too.

As she walked back to Dragonsreach in the nearing darkness, she felt quite content. She was confident in her own skills as alchemist, and perhaps this was her chance to get better at restorative magic too. There was a healer in the temple opposite the square that offered some training, so she could ask her for help.

And the best of this, of course, was that she got to stay in Skyrim. No returning to Mournhold, no leaving her father. He would still be in the same country as her. She was so utterly happy not to return to the solitude that was left in her old city, that she wouldn't have to meet with all the false nobles, their scorn, her former fiancé...

She wanted to find Ralof, tell him of her new job, but where could he be? She strolled through the castle, asked Gerda if she had seen him, which she only answered with the fact that he had been looking for her, too. Since the morning, actually.

She felt guilty of not telling him anything. She had wanted to, but he had been sleeping, and how stupid would it have been if she had told him and then been turned down by the Companions? Not to mention that he might have tried to talk her out of it.

She found him in the deserted library area, bowed down over a book. He hadn't noticed her entering, and suddenly she felt anxious. She stared at him while he was reading, and observed him. He looked good with stubbles on his chin, his upper part of his shirt undone. He certainly was in good form.

Something in her stomach dropped down as he noticed someone was in the room and made eye contact.

"Milly?" he asked, incredulously. He looked her up and down. "Where have you been al day?" His voice was hard, with just a little hint of wonder in it. Was it wonder of how she looked, or about the question?

Milly felt like a ten year old child, unable to give an answer without stammering.

"Well, eh..." she started. "I have been to Jorrvaskr, to tell the truth. You know, I have a job now. As an alchemist."

She was still standing like a fool in the doorway.

Ralof put his book down and raised from his chair. He walked around the table, still at a good distance of her.

"What were you thinking?" he accused.

Milly felt her cheeks turn red and she raised her chin in defiance.

"I told you I didn't want to go back to Mournhold," she explained. "I knew I couldn't just stay here. But then I thought, if I could get a job here, I could stay." She stepped closer. "The only thing I could think of was being an alchemist. But Whiterun already has an alchemist, so no use in starting a shop. And I would needed money if I was to start a shop. But then I thought, if I were to join the Companions, I could be an alchemist, with a ready place to live."

Ralof still didn't look pleased.

"You didn't really think this through, did you?" he accused.

She started to feel panicked.

"Why would you say that?" she asked. "Don't you think it's the perfect solution? Even if my father will be in a different city, we're both still in Skyrim. I won't have to go back to Mournhold." She had already said that, but she wanted to stress the point.

Ralof only looked less pleased.

"And they agreed to this?" he said rudely.

"Well – yes. I can start when father returns and both of you leave."

"How could they possibly agree _you_ to join them?"

Milly felt close to tears over this pointless discussion. "Why not? I _am_ a good alchemist."

"You are just a foolish little girl. You don't fit in a group of warriors."

_Little girl_? That was just as Vilkas had called her, but it hurt ten times as much hearing it from Ralof. Angry tears started to fall down from her lashes, tears that she cursed. She had thought he was supportive of her, regarded her a normal adult woman, able to make her own decision. "I am _not_ a little girl. I am 21 years old – I'm a fully fledged adult. And just for your intention, I'm going to be an _alchemist_, not a warrior myself."

Ralof changed his subject. "You don't understand how dangerous Skyrim is. We are at the break of war, and the war will also bring itself to Whiterun. You will _not_ be safe here."

"Not safe?" she repeated, her voice low in anger. "I'll be surrounded by the best warriors around. Can there _be_ a safer place?"

"They are a group of warriors. They must have their enemies."

"I won't be going along on any of their missions. I'll be in Jorrvaskr _brewing potions_."

Ralof sighed, his voice changed. "Look, Milly," he said, compassion shining through. "_Skyrim_ is nothing for you. Not in war, not in peace. It's too rough for you, even in the city. This is not a noble playground. The people here, perhaps the Companions too, you wouldn't know how to act."

"Is that it?" Milly asked, disbelieving. "For your intention, they are perfectly fine people and I have just spend the day there. They are courteous." _Or well, at least Farkas was._

Ralof shook his head, then suddenly turned around, grabbed Milly by her arms and pinned her to the wall. She gasped, staring at him big-eyed.

"What would you do if someone intimidated you, hmm?" he asked, her face mere inches away. She could feel his breath on her skin, raising the little hairs on her neck.

"Could you defend yourself?" he said, his voice reduced to a mere whisper. "Would you have the courage, the strength, to shake them off?"

His eyes were closed, his lips an inch away.

Milly felt her legs turn to jelly and had certainly dropped to the floor if Ralof hadn't hold her. She felt his breath on her lips, and wondered if he would be going to kiss her.

Then it dawned to her this was the entire point of what Ralof meant, and she was supposed to act now.

She swallowed. "People won't just push me to a wall," she said, half-heartedly. "And if they will, I can still do magic." Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

Ralof opened his eyes and took a little distance.

"You can't do magic if I have your hands pinned to the wall."

His face was serious, not a hint of a smile. His eyes were a bright blue, staring straight at hers.

"I could hit you with my legs, to free myself," she said. _If the muscles in my legs were still working._

"Do you think you have the strength?" he muttered.

"Did you forget about the man I killed, in the caverns under Helgen?" she said, her voice barely audible, waving her scarred hand. "Because I haven't. I'm not some damsel, I _can_ take care of myself."

"But would you be able to defend yourself a second time? Just to free yourself?"

She wished he would let her go. He was overwhelming her so much she thought she might faint.

"I want you to prove yourself that you can free yourself," he said in her ear, pressing his body against her. She could faint any second.

"I'm not going to hit you, Ralof," she pleaded. "And I'm not going to use magic on you. This won't happen to me. Don't be foolish, let me go."

As she opened her eyes again, Ralof was looking at her intently. His gaze was still serious, but it was mixed now with so much more. It was only as she felt his hand cup her face that one of her hands was free. It was also then when she noticed that Ralof's breathing had become irregular, too.

Her mouth was dry, and suddenly they were standing away from the wall, his hands cupping her face, her hands on his chest.

He kissed her. I was sweet, soft, his hands moved to her neck – as they heard noise outside the door.

Just before the door flew open, both of them realised someone was coming, and they jumped away.

Milly's father was standing in the door opening. He took a halt in his steps and observed the two of them, how they avoided each other.

"Milly?" Holger asked, not sure what had been happening.

"F – father!" Milly exclaimed, collecting herself, running to him, and hugging him. "You're still alive!"

"Yes," he replied. "I did my job, I found the stone Farengar wanted. But I first wanted to make sure you were still alright before I went to deliver it."

"I am – fine," Milly said after a moment of hesitation.

"And I see you have healed," Holger said to Ralof, his voice a bit cold.

"Yes, I have," Ralof replied, feeling Holger had noticed his little moment.

"Are you alright?" Milly asked her father.

"I am fine too," he answered. "Milly, I'm going to deliver this stone to Farengar, and Ralof is coming with me. You can go to sleep, if you want to."

"Well – okay," Milly replied, looking at Ralof with a frown.

She exited the room, and Ralof could feel what was coming.

"What happened between you?" Holger continued, a certain threat in his tone. "Did you touch her?"

Yes, he had touched her, but he had been present when he had, in the Jerral Mountains.

"Not in any bad way," he replied, annoyed that he was having this conversation.

"The way she was looking at you – did you kiss her?" Holger was glaring at him, danger in his eyes.

Ralof sighed. Why, why couldn't he turn back time and undo his quarrel with Milly? He might have been overreacting a bit, but he had been worried. He didn't know where she went, and all he heard was that she left Dragonsreach dressed like a lady. He didn't know where she went, and after making a futile tour through the city, he decided to go back to the castle. He could only imagine that her father would kill him if something happened to her.

And there she was with her happy story about getting a job and staying here. Living in Skyrim in present times wasn't a stroll in a field of flowers, it was dangerous. And Talos curse him, he hadn't wanted to kiss her. It was a mystery to him why he did, but there was something in the gleam of her eyes, in the way her breathing had become uneven, and well, her body against his that made him act.

And well, that kiss didn't even last a second. It didn't deserve the name _kiss_. It was more like a... peck.

"Look," Ralof replied, getting increasingly annoyed by himself and this situation. "Your daughter is an adult, she can do whatever she wants. If it hadn't been me, it would have been the next best man. She is not a little girl any more, you should realise that."

Holger looked at him, distrustful.

"You're not going to touch her again," he ordered. "And you are not going to sleep with her in the same room, just the two of you." His gaze changed. "You haven't..."

"No, I haven't," Ralof snapped. He hated fathers being overprotective of adult girls, especially if he didn't even really kissed the girl.

He was getting more angry with himself when he realised he wished Holger didn't interrupt them. Silly half-Nord girl. What got her into his mind, was beyond him. He wasn't feeling particularly attracted to her.

"You should deliver that stone of yours," Ralof said shortly. "I think Milly has something to tell you, if she's not in her room yet."

"I do have to deliver this stone, you are right," Holger replied. "If you can find Milly, ask her to go to Farengar's study. I also have to tell her what happened during my retrieval of the stone."

Ralof nodded and together they exited the room, Holger heading to the east wing of the castle, himself to the west wing.

He found Milly standing in the corridor leading to their guest room, looking out of the window. It was after sunset, the sky still purple. It was clear, the stars already brightly in the sky.

Milly turned around at the sound of his footsteps. He had imagined her cheeks might fluster at seeing him again, but they didn't. He admired that. She was silent, clearly waiting for him to speak first.

He wanted to be direct, just ask her to go to Farengar's study, but he couldn't. After just kissing her, she deserved something more.

"I'm sorry for kissing you," he said.

She raised an eyebrow and there was a flash of anger in her eyes.

"You're sorry?" she replied sarcastically. "Don't be, that was nothing. So what are you going to do now? Yell at me again for how a foolish little girl I am?"

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing she wouldn't take his apologies. "I shouldn't have said that. I was just worried about you, can you imagine? You didn't say anything and you were gone for the entire day."

She looked uncertain all of a sudden. "Okay, maybe I should have told you where I was going. But I needed to do this, do this alone, do you understand? You would have talked me out of this, I knew. I know it for certain now, so I was glad I didn't say anything."

She was right, he would have. Yet... Who was he to disagree with whatever she wanted? It wasn't as if he held any sort of authority over her, and he only knew her for a few days.

"I hoped you would be supportive of me," she said, her voice little.

He looked up. She was looking down, fumbling with her dress. Her neck was long and slender, something he only noticed now her hair was up.

He stepped closer to her, petting her shoulder in comfort. She looked up.

"I don't know why, but I see you really don't want to go back to Mournhold," he said. "I'm still not sure if Skyrim if a smart place for you to live, but I think you actually came up with a smart plan. And it's true, living with the Companions is a rather safe place."

She looked up through her lashes. "I shouldn't have yelled back at you," she said. "But I really will be fine, living at the Companions. I – I appreciate you worrying for me."

The thought of continuing the kiss lingered in his mind, but he pushed it away. He stepped back from her, wanting to tell her to go to Farengar's study, when loud footsteps were hurrying near from the opposite end of the corridor. A guard was running towards them, his face wrought in utter fear.

"A dragon," he called, out of breath. "There's a dragon on the loose!"

* * *

_AN: Happy New Year, everybody! Have you made any resolutions? I have, but they are far-fetched and won't come true. But I promised to post this on New Year, so here it is. I hope you enjoyed this chapter. __And oh, I have found myself a beta, Verpine! So in the future, this story might be more consistent and with less mistakes. :)_

_And yes, next chapter is going to be a fight. I'd like to explain to you why I rated this story "M". This is not because I'm going to write extensive graphic love scenes (sorry), but because I want to make this realistic to some degree. With "this", I mean fighting. I don't mean I'm going to write about flying bloody entrails, but you cannot have a fighting scene without some sort of wounds and kills. I don't think it's that bad, but just to be safe, I rated this "M". Just so you know :)  
_


	7. Dragonborn

**Chapter 7. Dragonborn**

There was a woman in Farengar's study as Holger entered, dressed in armour and a hood. She was bended over a book on the table and the wizard himself was standing behind her, also staring down.

"Don't forget, Farengar, that time really is running low. We aren't discussion theoretical problems any more. The dragons really do have come back." Her voice was stressed, direct, and all business. Neither of them seemed to notice Holger as he walked nearer.

"Yes, yes," Farengar replied, less hurried than she. "You shouldn't worry this much. Only one dragon has been sighted this far, and how sure are we that it was really there? Although... the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable... Let me show you something else I found." He was searching through a stack of papers on the end of his desk. "It's very intriguing... I think your employers may be interested as well."

Just as Holger thought this was actually an interesting conversation to listen to and he shouldn't make his presence known, the woman looked up. Farengar was still searching for his papers, mumbling on, not noticing Holger. The woman, her face now visible, was too small and delicate to be a Nord. Her features were also too fine, but Holger had lived too long with a Breton woman not to recognise one. Or, not long enough, for if she was still alive, he would never be here.

"You have a visitor," the woman said shortly as she stared at Holger, quite intently, as if he shouldn't be hearing this story.

Distracted, the wizard looked up from his search. "A yes, it's Holger! I see you have returned from Bleak Falls Barrow? Well, you didn't die, it seems."

"And I came back with what you requested," Holger replied, untying the pack from his back. The stone was huge – it was heavy and when he found it on the body of the long dead king he thought it near impossible to take it back to Whiterun. He was immensely glad for the borrowed horse, but he still needed to move the stone from the caverns to where he had left the animal.

It was odd to think of what else happened back in the room where he killed the Draugr – or so they were called, he was told. The Draugr had startled him the first time he saw one raising from its grave. He had known of necromancy, but he also knew of the natural occurrence of after-life. Sometimes, if the person that died, either died defending something, or was so much filled with hatred, it would carry out its duty or revenge after dead. He didn't know which was the case with these undead, but it was clear he had to kill them, or he would be killed by them instead.

But then, in the big cavernous room where he killed the Draugr King, he had stood in front of a tall, curved wall. It intrigued him, and it seemed like it was calling out to him, soft whispers. The writing, the words, they had seem strange to him, foreign, yet familiar, as if something he had known but forgotten. He had seen flashes of memories – not his memories, but the memories of what he thought were the Draugr King's, of the moments before his dead. The whispers had turned to light, had taken him over, and there had been a wind, wind without air moving, and then it had been over. He still wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not, but there had been a word that haunted his mind ever since.

_Fus_.

He carefully put the stone on the table. He had studied it well. He didn't know what the text on the back of the tablet meant, he was rather sure that there was a map on the front, a map of Skyrim. There were stars shattered over the map, marking who-knows-what. As far as he could tell from the damaged stone, there were 21 marks.

"No small feat," the wizard replied, but what intrigued Holger was the woman. She was looking at the stone with such intent that he was sure she knew what this meant.

"This is Delphine, my... associate," Farengar introduced. "It was her who discovered the location. I'm still quite curious _how_, since she so far declined to mention it. But, the information was correct after all."

"I told you I cannot tell you that, Farengar," Delphine replied. She stopped for a moment to study Holger himself. Even though she wasn't exactly young anymore, she still held herself in good posture. "Nice work," she complimented. There was a little bit of admiration in her voice, but most of it was still stiff.

"Holger here has asked me to tell him more of what I know about dragons," Farengar said. "Now you're here, I thought you would be a great addition to my story."

"Why?" Delphine replied, looking at Holger. "Why would you want to know more about dragons?"

Holger had the nasty feeling there was a lot more to this woman than she seemed. "I have a simple curiousity in them," he answered. "I was at Helgen when the dragon attacked the town."

"You were?" the woman asked, and for the first time, her tightly furrowed brow loosened. "So you have seen the dragon, and now want to know more about them?"

Just as he wanted to reply to the affirmative, Ireleth, the Dunmer housecarl of the Jarl, entered the room, looking rushed. It was clear something had happened, for all the other times he had seen the woman, she had been rather collected.

"Farengar, you are required at once," Ireleth called. "A dragon has been sighed nearby." When she noted Holger, she turned to him. "You should come, too."

"A dragon?" Delphine repeated.

"Yes," Ireleth replied, turning to the woman. "If you can fight, you would be most welcome too."

"Sure," Delphine answered.

The three of them followed Ireleth and a guard that waited outside the study.

"A dragon? How exciting!" Farengar called as they ran.

Holger thought there was nothing really exciting about it, as he remembered the rampage, the wounded villagers, those that didn't survive.

"I'd take this a bit more seriously, if I were you, Farengar," Ireleth answered him sternly. Holger secretly agreed.

"But where was it seen? What was it doing?" Farengar asked.

"At the Western Watchtower," Ireleth replied. "But if it decided to turn on the city, who knows what will happen... Who knows if we can stop it?"

They met with the Jarl at the room above the stairs.

The guard repeated to the Jarl where the dragon was seen.

"And it sure was a strange sight, sir," the guard concluded. "All it did was fly in circles, he did, as if he was waiting."

"You've done well," the Jarl said. "You can go to barracks and rest, and when you are there, tell to all of the others to arm themselves, and make sure everyone has a bow. Tell them to meet Ireleth at the City Gate."

"I have already given the order, sir," Ireleth said.

"Always one step ahead of me," the Jarl said with a reminiscent smile on his face. "Don't fail me, Ireleth." She nodded. "And you, Holger, I know you are not mine to command, but even so I will ask you to go with Ireleth. You are one of the only ones here who has met a dragon before."

"I will go," Holger said, without thinking about it. "But my daughter, I need to know she's safe."

"She will only be safe when the dragon is killed," the Jarl answered, and Holger could see the truth in his words. The Jarl turned to Delphine. "And pardon me for omitting the ceremony, madam, but you look like you can fight, and will be most welcome to join."

"I will," she said with a nod of her head.

"I should come along," Farengar asked his Jarl. "I would very much like to see this dragon."

"No," the Jarl replied shortly. "I cannot afford to risk both you and Ireleth. I need you here with your mind to come up with ways to defend the city. You can watch from the balconies, if you really want to see it. And one last thing, Ireleth," the Jarl called as the woman was on her way downstairs. "This is not a death or glory mission. I need to know what we are dealing with."

"Do not worry, my lord," Ireleth said, turning around. She flicked a small smile. "I am the very soul of caution."

She descended the stairs on a run and Holger and Delphine followed her. Dimly, Holger wondered if Ireleth had said it in sarcasm or truth.

It was messy, to find their way towards the city gates. The civilians seemed to have spotted the dragon too, while now it was nowhere to been seen. People were running on the streets, and here and there a child was crying. Even though the Whiterun guard was usually pretty prepared, it somehow took quite long to gather enough force.

While Holger stood waiting at the gates until all the guards had arrived, Ralof turned up. He was dressed in his armour, a bow strapped to his back and an axe at his belt.

"Don't worry about Milly," he told Holger. "It wasn't a nice fight, but I made sure she remained in the castle. I said she could watch from the balconies, but that she needed to go inside if something happened. I tried to stress on her that she needed to follow any orders given to her and not do anything _foolish_."

"Well," Holger replied. "At the very least I'm happy it was you having this discussion with her, not me. If only she does what she is being told for a change."

Which would almost take a miracle.

All of the guards had arrived and they took to the tower. It was a messy sort of undertaking, for most of them were twitchy and tended to look up to the skies and as a result, didn't see where there feet were carrying them.

As they reached the tower, it was more than clear that the dragon had done more than just flying around in circles. Bushes had been set on fire, illuminating the ruined guard outpost. The tower itself was still standing, with only a part of the wall missing, but the surrounding buildings that housed the guard and held supplies, were utterly destroyed. The earth was moist, so the fire didn't spread to all the vegetation. As they walked among the ruins, they noticed bodies of the guards scattered among the wreckage. Some of them were laying there, eyes staring unblinkingly to the star-strewn skies, but others were molested by either the dragon or fallen debris, some of them hardly recognisable as a human being at all. One of them was on fire and the smell of burning flesh was heavy in the air. Whether it was the smell or the sight, one of the guards retched.

Besides the loud cracking of the fires, it was silent in the field, as only night can be silent. If anyone spoke, it was in whispers, as if a sudden loud noise could wake unforeseeable things. Ireleth commanded her guard to check for survivors, but it was in vain.

Holger, Ralof and Delphine, not being part of the guard and any of their training, scanned the field themselves. The moon was bright enough to see the part that weren't illuminated by fire.

All were in anticipation, for where had the dragon taken refuge? Would it come back, or had it flown to the next place, further invoking havoc to Skyrim?

There was a roar, the sound of wings, and after minutes of walking around aimlessly, anticipating the worst, the dragon came back. It soared into view, its body lighted by the moon.

To Holger, it was like meeting an old acquaintance. There was no doubt this dragon was different than the one from Helgen, yet it seemed as familiar. It was smaller, with less spikes and of a lighter colour. It moved as supple through the air as one might move in water, soaring over the tower, observing the scene below.

It was odd, Holger realised. He heard a scream behind him, and saw people move with fear, yet his own mind was strangely blank. Clear. There was no fear as he beheld the dragon, and there was none of the shock he had felt in Helgen. It was as if he knew how the dragon would move, what it would do.

Just as he expected it would, the dragon flew low, and breathed fire over the scared guards, and flew up again. It was as if the beast tested his prey, was determining if this was an easy kill or not. The dragon roared, and to Holger, it seemed like he was speaking. He was taunting them. He didn't seem impressed by those hunting him. It would be an easy kill, the dragon called.

Ireleth mustered her guards, commanding the best archers to move up to tower, to get a better advantage point. Arrows rained down upon the beast, some repelled by the hard scales, and others impaling the flesh. He took his own bow, but he had never been a good archer. He aimed for the softer flesh on the beast's neck. Somehow, he knew the scales were thinner there.

_Mirmulnir_. He didn't know how he knew it, but he knew this was the name of the dragon. There was no mistake.

Mirmulnir sped to the tower, and with his wings high behind him, he grabbed one of the archers in his claws, breaking the man's spine. He called out in pain, but Mirmulnir only seemed to revel in the sound. He rose in the air, and when he was high enough, he dropped the man to the ground. With a yell, followed by a loud drop, the man died. Holger ducked away as the dragon breathed fire again, shouting to the guards.

Another guard was the new victim. Mirmulnir soared through the air and bit the man, pulling him up in the air. The man's bloody legs fell down, detached, as the guards yelled for their unfortunate comrade.

Slowly, the arrows impaling him drained his health. The beast became tired, his breathing deeper, as he finally landed on the earth.

There was no doubt in Holger as he ran for the beast. Only dimly he was aware of Ralof calling his name, telling him to take distance. He threw the bow down and pulled his sword.

Before either of them attacked the other, he and the dragon stared at each other. The moon shone on the bloody scales, red mixed with jade.

Then it spoke to him. _You are brave. Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor._

His defeat? But no, it would be _him_ to defeat the beast, not the other way around.

He'd known all along what he needed to do. As the dragon shouted at him, breathed fire, he dropped down, avoiding the fire, and hurried forwards. He held his sword high above his head, thrusting the weapon into the dragon's throat. As it sank in soft flesh to the hilt, the dragon screamed out. Holger hurried on, pushing the sword forward with all his strength.

The cut was deep and wide. Blood showered over Holger, almost blinding him, but he endured, pulling his sword along. As he felt the life ebb from the dragon's body, he jumped away, rolling on his side to avoid the fallen dragon and not to get its weight on top of him.

Somewhere in his mind, Mirmulnir cried.

_Dovahkiin! No!_

The dragon was dead. Holger panted as he got to his knees, looking at the body. Flames erupted from the skin of the beast, eating its flesh. The heat washed over his face, but he was unable to look away. Then the flames died, leaving behind clean, white bones that shone silver in the moonlight. And there it came, the wind without moving air that slashed around him, whipping him, engulfing him. As he closed his eyes at the intensity of the feeling, images washed over him, springing alive like a candle's flame.

Mirmulnir had been old, awoken from years of quiet slumber, high in the Jerral Mountains. There had been the presence of another one, the one that awoke him, calling out for him to join his kin.

Words of the strange language surged through his head, swerving around his mind, one word in constant repetition.

_Fus. Fus. Fus._

But somehow, he knew what it meant now. Force.

He had fallen to all fours and looked up to find Ralof bended over him.

"Are you okay, mate?" he asked, uncertain.

"I – I'm fine," Holger replied, for that was true. He might be tired, but he felt refreshed, strong somehow.

He rose to his feet and took the sword that was lying around the dragon bones. Ralof observed him silently.

"I don't mean anything by this, mate, not after you killed that dragon, but you look like an utter mess," Ralof stated kindly. "I know it's not your blood, but still."

Ralof dug up a ragged handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to the older man. Quite bluntly, the man was right. Holger wiped his eyes with the back of his hands, but his hair and beard and cheeks were still shining with a fair amount of dragon blood. He took the rag from Ralof and tried to clean himself the best he could.

"Milly would do me something, for clearing away all this," he noted. "I guess dragon blood must have at least twelve alchemical abilities and incredible valuable."

"Don't forget it's supposed to be extinct," Ralof added.

"Yes. _Supposed_. But not quite," Holger finished.

The rag was stained with the blood so much that it was useless to try and clean himself further with it. As he tossed it aside, one of the guards approached them, his face struck with disbelief.

"I – I cannot believe it," the man said in clear wonder. "You – you must be the Dragonborn."

Holger looked up, sure that he had misheard the man, but he was still looking at him in startled admiration.

"What do you mean?" Holger asked, not sure if he understood the man at all.

"You don't know the legends?" the guard replied. "But you are a Nord. There used to be a time when dragons roamed the lands, powerful and dangerous. The Dragonsborns were the true killers of the dragons and stole their powers after death. And I believe that is what you just did – you absorbed the dragon's power. We saw how you killed the beast."

Holger gazed at the man. Well, yes, he knew of the stories, but they were almost considered legends. Absorbing the dragon's power? That wasn't something out of real life, was it?

Yet... Born killer of dragons? He had known how the dragon would act, known how he moved. He had dreamt of dragons as long as he could remember. But absorbing the dragon's power? Now what? Was he now able to sprout wings and fly away?

"Well, it's easy," the guard answered. "You'll know if you are the Dragonborn by shouting. According to the legends, only the Dragonborn can shout without training, like true dragons do. Try to shout."

The guard looked at him in nervous excitement. What did he ask him to do? Shout? Well, he certainly could yell, but he doubted he would breath fire like the dragon.

_Fus._

The word came to his mind, the simple syllable, the answer to this mystery. The word was more than just a word. It had a power behind it, it was a shout.

Holger opened his mouth and uttered the word.

"_Fus_!"

A force, something not quite magical but similar somehow, exited his body, loosened his mind. It moved away the air, as if the air itself had turned solid and could be used as a weapon. The guard staggered on his feet, as if he had been pushed by the wall of air.

"It's true," the man gasped, regaining his composure. "You are Dragonborn, there is no doubt in it."

Holger's head was strangely clear as the constant drumming mystery of the strange word had finally been resolved. Everything made sense somehow.

"Dragonborn?" Ireleth said in disdain. The surviving guards had gathered around her. "You shouldn't blabber about things you know nothing of. I just know I don't need a magical Dragon-killer. For me, it is enough that somebody kills the dragon – legendary or not. And yes, that is what you did, Holger, with mythical powers or without. We should all trust in the powers of our arms, the strength of our muscles, not in the magic of tales and legends."

"But, it was shouting what he did," one of the guards protested. "There was no doubt about that. I think you really are the Dragonborn."

Ireleth turned to Holger. "Well, that certainly wasn't an easy fight, and I've surely seen my share of battles. I'm not sure about anything of this Dragonborn business, but I am sure glad you were with us. Your strength and courage is admirable. You should get back to Dragonsreach. I'm sure the Jarl has something to say to the man that killed the dragon. Tell him all that happened here, so I can take care of the wounded and fallen."

Ireleth herself had some burn wounds herself, and she seemed immensely tired.

"I shall," Holger replied. "And Ireleth... You were excellent at commanding the guards."

Ireleth looked up, and flashed him a tired smile.

"Thank you," she said.

Then Holger remembered Delphine. She knew a lot about dragons, right? She might be able to tell him more.

But she was gone. Nowhere could he find the Breton woman. She wasn't among the guards, she wasn't among the bodies, it was as if she had disappeared. Well. Then he needed to go to the other person who was with knowledge of the dragons; Farengar. And he needed to need to know if his daughter was alright, and tell her that he was alive and well.

He turned to Ralof. Ralof was standing to the side, his arms folded over each other. He nodded and both of them turned to walk back to the city in silence. As they reached the little stream, Holger bend down to wash his face and hair. The water turned red.

"What do you think?" he asked Ralof as they continued their way.

Ralof took a moment of contemplation before he replied. "To me, that seemed a pretty real shout, and I know how a shout looks like. Jarl Ulfric is able to shout too, but only after years of training. Only a Dragonborn would be able to shout without any form of training."

"I know something about shouts," Holger replied. "I've heard the stories of the war. But I never did receive training myself. I'm not sure how I performed the deed, truth be told."

"Sure sound to me as if you are the Dragonborn. And well, mate, it is also pretty coincidental that your arrival in Skyrim is at the same time a Dragon returned. It's dead now, but who says there will not come more?"

Holger shook his head. "This dragon was different from the one in Helgen. That one had been more... powerful. I can tell somehow. That one is still alive."

They neared the stables, as suddenly the air shook with a force and a deafening sound shattered the skies, resonating in your very bones.

_DOVAHKIIN!_

Holger looked up to the sky. The sound seemed to come from above, but there was nothing there. But at the same time, the voice came from beneath him, behind him, within in.

"Did... Did you hear that?" he asked Ralof, not believing what had happened.

"I did, but I'm not sure what it means," Ralof replied, a frown on his face. As nothing more happened, they continued their ascent to the city hill.

"I wish the world was flat," Ralof complained after the first set of stairs.

"Not much of a sight if it were," Holger replied with a grin.

"That might be true," Ralof answered a tired smile on his own face.

The city was mostly deserted. The villagers were inside their houses, and the guards were scarce.

As they entered the keep, a blur of burgundy and copper rushed towards them, stopping a few feet in front of them.

"Dad!" Milly called. "You are alive! But... There is blood all over your armour." She looked worried as she observed him.

"It's not mine," he replied. "It's the dragon's."

"We saw him land," Milly replied in a small voice. "So, he died, didn't he?"

"Your fathers work," Ralof replied with a grin.

Milly looked back to him, her eyes big.

"_You_ killed it?"

"I did."

He continued his way to the throne were the Jarl was sitting, but he didn't miss the little moment Ralof and Milly shared.

"I'm glad you're safe too," she said to him, quietly.

"Of course I am," Ralof replied just as quietly, as if he couldn't hear it. "It takes more than a dragon to kill me. And we had your father, of course."

He touched her arm, and Holger didn't miss the look Milly gave him. It was a look that made him think of her mother, before they had been married.

He swallowed the thought.

"I'm glad you've it back alive," the Jarl said, leaning forward. "What happened to Ireleth?"

"She's tending to the guards," Holger replied. "She's mostly unharmed."

"So, what happened?" the Jarl asked. "We have been watching from the balcony, but it was too dark to distinguish anything."

"Holger killed the dragon," Ralof replied, now standing next to him. "He slashed the creature's throat."

The Jarl looked taken aback. "Really? Well, that certainly is mighty accomplishment. You deserve a place among the hero's of Whiterun. I'm glad the dragon lies slain."

Farengar was standing next the throne. "There is more than that to what happened on the field, am I right?" he commented. "Did something strange happen when the dragon died?"

Holger was taken aback at this. How could the wizard know this? What else did he suspect?

"You did not miss the call, did you?" Farengar explained. "It were the Greybeards, calling out to the Dragonborn. You said you killed the Dragon. Are you Dragonborn?"

"I think I might be," Holger replied earnestly, not knowing what the wizard meant by Greybeards.

Milly detangled herself from Ralof's arm and turned to him.

"What?" she demanded.

"I see," Farengar replied. "I take it you do not know what the Greybeards are?" Upon the negative answer, he continued. "The Greybeards are the masters of the Way of the Voice. They live secluded from society, high on the slopes of Throat of the World, the tall mountain to the east. The Dragonborn is supposed to have unique innate powers, to be able to shout without any training. There has been one in a very long time. In truth, the last person the Greybeards summoned was Tiber Septim."

"You should consider this a greatest honour," the Jarl replied.

"But... Greybeards?" Milly asked, sounding alarmed. "What do they want with my father?"

"Something happened when the dragon was killed, and whatever happened, the Greybeards must have taken notice," the Jarl explained. "If your father truly is the Dragonborn, they merely want to train him, teach him how to use his gift."

"And if they think Holger is the Dragonborn, then who are we to disagree?" Farengar added.

"So, that is my way? I need to go to this place – High Hrothgar?" Holger asked, not sure if he liked the sound of any of this.

"You should, and you should hurry," Farengar said. "There's simply no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It really is a tremendous honour."

"It is," the Jarl agreed. "But not now. You first need to rest, and you have to let us honour you for killing the dragon. I'll call for a glory feast tomorrow. You can leave the day after tomorrow, early in the morning."

"There's no need for a feast," Holger replied, dreading such society gatherings. "Really, I'm glad the dragon is dead, I don't need to be honoured."

"Nonsense," the Jarl insisted. "There is no hurt in staying a day longer to get what you deserve."

Holger couldn't really refuse that. This was a Jarl, after all. No matter how much he hated fancy parties, there was nothing much to it than to endure it.

"You can rest in one of the family guest bedrooms. I'll call for a tailor in the morning to measure you an outfit worthy of a dragon slayer."

O, by the heavens, no. A feast was as much as he could handle, but being dressed in puffy clothes was too much. Before he could protest, the Jarl turned to Milly.

"And you too. You deserve the honour too."

"But I didn't do anything," Milly replied anxiously, glad to be out of focus.

"Nonsense," the Jarl said. "You are the daughter of the dragon slayer, you deserve as much."

Which was kind of ridiculous, but silently, Holger felt morbidly happy they were also dragging Milly through this. She hated all of this as much as him, and if they could share in this agony, it was better than enduring it alone.

"Follow me," the Jarl directed.

As Holger began to follow, Milly turned around to Ralof.

"Get me out of this," she growled to him, her voice low, so the Jarl wouldn't hear.

"O no," Ralof said, a large grin on his face. "I think I'm going to enjoy this too much."

* * *

_Author's Rant: I wanted to post this later, but then I thought, I have it finished, so why wait? This was a really difficult chapter to write, on how the Dragonborn might experience things like absorbing dragon's power and the whole shouting thing. I hope you like my version of it!_

_More of a rant: I'm really excited for the Dragonborn DLC. I'm looking forward returning to Solstheim after going there in TES3 Morrowind, and you know? I think it's funny that the trailers tells of the first Dragonborn coming from there. And guess what? Holger is from Solstheim too. Funny coincidence, I might get new inspiration from it! I hope they release it soon for the PC. Speaking of which, I have a new laptop! I can finally play Skyrim in ultra setting! Everything looks so real now!  
_

_Thanks for the reviews, and I hope nobody has given up on their new years resolution yet. Mine just increased! (with my new laptop, haha, sorry..)  
_


	8. Corsets and Feasts

**Chapter 8. Corsets and Feasts**

It was quite an interesting experience, Milly thought, as she leaned against the wall and embraced herself. She gasped for air as her breath was pulled away. So, that was how it was to wear a corset.

Her mother has worn them all the time when she was young. It was just something noble ladies did. She had been too young to wear them herself, but she could remember her mother clearly, with the maid helping her get in and out them. She could remember the favourite pair of her mother, a soft pink one with dark brown edges and embroidery. Her mother always said a corset was the essence to appearing a lady.

The one she got put in was made of dark cotton, nothing too fanciful for the eye. But why should it? It was not as if anyone was going to see it.

Milly was surprised when the lady's maid said she was fully laced now. Wearing a corset didn't feel at all how she would have suspected it. It was strangely supportive, comfortable in a way she could not have foreseen. Having the thing pulled on was worse than the actual wearing.

The corset wasn't all there was to the underwear. Milly was forced into a few layers of white petticoats, which was covered with a dress of mustard yellow velvet. It had edgings of white lace and fur trimming. It was heavy, falling in thick pleats from her waist. When she thought she was finished, the maid opened two boxes. In one of them was a golden belt made from connected shackles, each adorned with a pearl in the middle. It was weighty on her hips, and when she moved around, she felt like she had to drag a substantial burden along. In the second box was a matching necklace to wear over the high collar.

"I think you are ready now, m'lady," the maid said.

"O, that's good," Milly said, relieved she wasn't forced to wear any more layers of clothing or jewels. "Thank you for helping me."

The girl curtsied and left the room. Milly moved around some more, making small twirls, to test the dress out. The skirts flared out beautifully. She stopped in front of the mirror, and was startled by her reflection. She _did_ look regal in these clothes. The corset forced her shoulders back, her spine straight and it was impossible to get into an inelegant posture. The dress was beautiful, but it would never be something she herself would pick out. Her hair was fastened in an intricate twist at the nape of her neck.

Which was good, for it taken the maid a full two hours of dressing her, including washing and hairdressing. The maid had been in an uproar when she couldn't find her, as Milly was in Farengar's study most of the day, making batches of potions and creams to battle all the burn wounds.

But of course, she still had half an hour left before six o'clock, the start of the feast. And Milly was sure she didn't want be a minute early. The evening would last long enough.

She exited the room and headed to the door next to her, to her father.

He was sitting in a chair in front of the hearth, a book in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.

"Look at you, Milly," he said when he saw her. "The fairy godmother turned you into a princess." It was mockery, as only her father could mock her.

She stepped closer, patting on the bodice. "I'm wearing a corset. Like mum," she said.

"She would be proud of you," father replied, solemn again. "Perhaps a little too Nordic to her taste, but you look like the noble she intended you to be."

Milly flashed a grin as her father clothes came into view. He was dressed in a black velvet jacket with a red dragon on the chest. He was wearing matching black breeches and supple boots. The jacket would be much too gaudy for him if he had a say in this, but the oddest was his combed back hair. For once, his entire face was visible, including the scar above his brow. His beard was neatly trimmed, and he was wearing a golden chain around his neck. Over the back of his hair was a heavy velvet golden-coloured cloak.

"Out of us, I think you make the most surprising appearance," she said. "Really, an embroidered dragon? They must have hit you on the head before they forced you into this."

Holger chuckled. "They nearly had to. But then I realised the poor seamstress lady had gone through all this ordeal of making it in time, and I could hardly be discourteous to her, now could I?"

Milly smiled. "I'm proud of you, dad."

"I did manage to stop her from putting me in stockings and shoes. I said to her I'd only take boots."

She dropped herself in the chair opposite of him, groaning because the corset poked into her waist. Alright, there was a special way of sitting in a corset, she did not know that. She could lean into the corset instead of slouching down in the chair. What an interesting ability.

Holger had turned serious all of a sudden. "Milly," he began, leaning down in his chair. "You never did dream about dragons, did you?"

She frowned. "Never. Why would you ask?"

Holger hesitated for a while. "I'm just pondering. If I really am a Dragonborn, you, as my daughter, could be the same."

"No," Milly replied in hurried horror. "I cannot be. I've never dreamt of any sort of Dragon. Is this a hereditary sort of thing?"

"I'm not sure," Holger answered. "Dragon_born_ does seem to imply that. I know for sure that neither my parents nor my sister ever dreamt of all of this."

"Perhaps it skips a generation or two? Or is something only in males?"

"It could be."

Milly smirked awkwardly. "Well, I know where to look for if I get any sons. If, you know, I ever marry and want to have kids."

It was silent for a while. It couldn't be more clear both of them thought about Gwynneth, and if she would already be pregnant.

Holger took something from the table. "I have a letter here, for your sister. I explained to her all that happened so far, and that our plans and location have changed, but that we're safe, for now. You should add your own message and send it by carriage. I'm not sure what my future brings, but at least you have a steady address now and you could start sending letters to each other."

Milly smiled sadly. "Yes. I do hope she is doing fine," she replied quietly, accepting the letter.

"We are going to leave early in the morning," Holger said.

"What?" Milly answered, looking up. "We?"

"Ralof and me, of course. We're travelling to the east together, and then he'll head north and I'll head south. I have a mountain to climb."

Milly shouldn't be surprised, she knew that, yet it still came as a shock to her. Come morning, both Ralof and her father would leave. So, the last time she could talk to any of them, was tonight. But instead of thinking about her father, Ralof was on her mind. She had only known him a few days, yet she'd grown so attached to him. She felt guilty for being more shocked about Ralof's farewell than her own father's.

"Forget about him, Milly," Holger said. Milly was annoyed that he noticed her mood. "Isn't there a handsome Breton in the Companions?"

"No," she replied shortly, turning away as she felt her cheeks turn red. The short kiss she shared with Ralof lingered on her skin, but she'd never agree to it. Perhaps she did fancy him too much than she dared to agree. There was something about him that made her feel... comfortable. And that made her angry, now.

"There are bound to be some strong Nord men, then," Holger said. "I heard the companions might be coming too, tonight. If they see you dressed like this, I'm sure no one will be able to get their eyes off you."

"Don't try, dad," Milly replied, mortified. "This is not like you."

"That's good, because if any man eyes you a little too long, I'll be forced to duel them. Who knows, this whole shouting deal might come in handy, after all."

Someone knocked on the door, breaking their reverie.

"Well, they're calling for us. Party time?" Milly asked in reluctance.

"Party time," Holger nodded, the same reluctance in his voice.

* * *

It wasn't too bad, in the end. They sat at honourary places during the dinner. The Jarl sat at the middle of the table, Avenicci, Irileth and Farengar at one side, and Holger and Milly on the other. Milly was sad that Ralof was sitting at one of the two tables that stood perpendicular to their one, too far away to talk. The meals they got were mostly unfamiliar, or a deviation from meals they did know, but they were tasty. She was only able to eat in small quantities of each dish, thanks to the corset that didn't allow her stomach to be expanded. How did other women do this? In her mind, her mother never had weird eating habits, but she certainly could not eat as she was used to. Didn't the Jarl have a wife that was supposed to be here? He had kids after all.

After the dinner, the Jarl hold a speech in Holger's honour and handed him a fancy enchanted sword, and the promise that he could come and visit whenever he felt like it. Milly was bestowed the same honour, and she was praised over her alchemical capabilities and how she helped with the burning wounds. She did feel a little proud when Kodlak seemed impressed in her direction.

After the speech, the tables were carried away and there was a dance. Milly, of course, had to dance with all the sons of the noble families. She hated dancing with strangers, for she never knew what to talk about. It was clear some of the sons couldn't even dance very well or were just forced by their parents and as uncomfortable as she. Holger got the better end of the deal, for he was just talking with everybody. Ralof was standing to the side, drinking with people he knew, or dancing with a few women. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Milly's next dancing partner was horrible. It was a tall boy, muscular, but clearly several years younger than she. He was handsome, she supposed, but bragging about hunting achievement she wasn't interested in. Moreover, he was dancing way to close to her and keeping the hand on her back several inches too low for Mournhold civilities. It was clear Skyrim held other traditions.

Holger was talking to Kodlak, she noticed, and the two brothers were standing with him. The four of them kept sending her looks, making her even more uncomfortable than she already was. Where was Ralof?

As she was swirled around, she saw Ralof slipping in the corridor that led to his room. Well, he wouldn't escape her this easily. She detached herself from the boy, giving him a curtsy.

"Pardon me, but I have to go and find a privy," she said. No gentleman would ever question a lady when it came down to such things. Without waiting for his answer, she hurried after Ralof.

When she was sure nobody could see her, she started to run.

"Ralof!" she called, but he was at an advantage and probably couldn't hear her. She rushed past a guard who startled at her sight. Pausing for a hurried curtsy, Milly rushed on.

As she turned the corner, Ralof finally noticed her. She stopped running and breathed shallowly, leaning against the wall at a sudden lightness in her head. Her ribs hurt.

"A corset isn't made for running," she stated, out of breath.

Ralof stepped closer. "Why did you follow me?" Ralof said, looking down on her, his eyebrows raised.

"Why did you leave?" she asked instead, gulping for some fresh air. She really shouldn't have run this fast. She could also have walked and go to his room instead. She knew where it was, after all. Why didn't she think of that?

Ralof waited a second before answering. "I need to leave early next morning, and I thought it would be smart to retreat to my early instead of late."

Milly was taken aback at the distance in his voice, and suddenly doubted herself.

"Didn't you want to dance?" Milly replied in a small voice.

"I did dance." Ralof folded his arms over each other.

Milly wanted to reply, _but not with me_, yet decided against it.

"Look at you," Ralof said. "You look really pretty tonight. The dress suits you."

Milly ignored him. She still wasn't back at her breath and suddenly hated the corset for restricting her to take any deep breath.

Ralof stepped closer, reaching out in the direction of her face, but Milly stepped back. He didn't agree and took another step forward, putting an escaped strand of hair back in its place.

"What do you want?" Milly said in a harsh voice, tilting her chin up.

"Do you feel offended?" Ralof asked, his voice immeasurable.

No, she wasn't offended, just unsure. "You didn't want to dance with me," she replied.

Ralof laughed. "I'm going to leave tomorrow. You'll be on your own then."

He could as well have said what her father did, that she shouldn't grow attached to him.

"I know," Milly said, growing impatient. She didn't like to feel vulnerable and hated it when people toyed with her. "And you wanted to go without saying goodbye?"

"I would have said goodbye tomorrow morning," Ralof answered, a bit too harshly.

"Well… I see," Milly replied. "In that case, I bid you good night."

Ralof grabbed her arm before she turned around.

"You have something to say to me?" Milly said, her head held high, faking indifference in her voice.

"I did not intend to upset you," he said, looking at her.

"Don't worry then, you did not," Milly replied, wanting to pull her arm back.

Ralof said nothing, instead giving her a crooked smile and all-knowing look.

Milly gave in. "I understand if you didn't want to dance with me, but why then touch my hair, grab my arm?"

Ralof shrugged, the grin still faintly on his face. "I guess I couldn't help myself. But I did not stop you to say something to you. Instead, I wanted to give you something." He released her arm and dug in his pocket, looking for something. "I would have given it tomorrow, but why not now? I was walking though the city this day, and saw this. I thought, or perhaps I shouldn't, you might need something. I remembered the magic you used in the caves under Helgen, and thought you needed something to protect yourself better... Magic would be more suitable than any weapon."

He finally found what he was looking for and threw it air once, catching it, and then holding it up between his thumb and forefinger.

It was ring, a small band of silver.

"This reminded me of you."

In a daze, she took it from him. There was a spark as she touched the metal, a spark that told her of an enchantment. The ring itself was a little chipped, with the smallest green stone in the centre. She looked up, puzzled, to Ralof's face.

"And?" he asked. "Do you feel anything? It's supposed to increase your destruction magic. So you know, that if someone decided to attack you, you can sufficiently defend yourself."

The ring fitted her middle finger. She felt the enchantment run through her skin.

"It's amazing, Ralof," she said. "I – I feel the magic. I can't believe you thought about me."

Ralof grinned awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders. "It feels a little foolish now," he said. "I didn't know you would be getting fancy jewellery like this." He stretched his hand and touched the stone around her neck.

"No," Milly replied compassionately. "This is much better than anything the Jarl could have given me."

"I'm glad to hear it," Ralof said.

An awkward silence fell. She realised this was the first time Ralof didn't have some ready-made answer to say.

"I should leave you to sleep," Milly said, and then did something very daringly. She tip-toed, put her hands on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. The stubble tickled her lips.

"Thank you," she said.

"Well, well," Ralof remarked. "The fair maiden rewards me with a kiss. Now, that certainly must be an outrageous thing to do for a young lady. Think of all the gossip."

"Good luck there was no one to see us, then," Milly answered.

Ralof smiled. "But do promise me that the next time I'll see you, you won't be heavy with child from the very first Nord with a handsome smile. They'll intend to do more than kissing."

"What do you think me capable of?" Milly said, faking to be indignant.

Ralof embraced her, almost pulling her from her feet. She was buried in his chest, his face buried in her hair. She closed her eyes and tried to swallow the moment, remember how he felt.

A man behind her cleared his throat. Ralof detached himself, letting his hands linger on her waist a little too long.

They turned around. A guard was standing a few feet away.

"The Jarl and your father were looking for you," the guard said formally, ignoring the intimacy he just witnessed. "I am to escort you back to the party."

"O," Milly replied, turning red. Thank Mara he hadn't been kissing her. "Sure." She turned to Ralof. "Good night, then."

"Good night," he replied with a smile.

She followed the guard back to the throne room in uncomfortable silence. Her father eyed her suspiciously as she returned and regained her place next to him.

The Jarl held a final speech and closed the feast. All of the nobles had to say their goodbyes to the Jarl and the Dragon slayer and his well-dressed daughter.

She got bored after a while of all the curtsying, and of the few men that kissed her hand.

She was about to drop a curtsy to the next man when she realised it was Farkas. It struck her as extremely odd. She had only spent one day with the man, but after tomorrow she would live her life with the Companions. The way her father's face was familiar to her, just as her sister's, or even Ralof's in this short time, the faces of these men would make up her world.

"Enjoyed your evening?" Farkas asked her, pulling her out her reverie.

"I am not that fond of dancing with strangers," she admitted. "I like to know the people I'm forced to spend time with."

"Good that you've already got to meet us, if that's the case," Farkas replied with a kind smile.

Milly blushed. She didn't mean it like that, that she automatically disliked _all_ strangers. Because basically, that was what the Companions were to her.

"We've prepared your room," Farkas continued. "It appears the Companions used to have their own alchemist, because we found the equipment somewhere. I think your room is nice enough, you'll feel home in no time."

"Thank you," she replied, appreciating the man's kindness. "I'll be arriving tomorrow morning."

"We'll be waiting for you, then," Farkas said.

Her father was done talking with Kodlak, and the older man turned to her.

"We look forward to welcome you in the morning," the older man said with a bow of his head.

"O – yes," Milly replied, suddenly feeling humbled by the impressive man. "I look forward to it."

They said goodbye, but Vilkas spoke no word. It was odd how much he and his brother looked alike, while their personalities could not be much different.

As everything was over, the retreated back to their room. The maid that helped her dress, helped her undress now. She felt oddly light weighed without the heavy velvet pressing on her, but then felt oddly fat when she was out of the corset. Suddenly she could move her torso again, felt soft. It was strange to be able to bend and twist her body to her liking.

She dressed in her nightgown while the girl took the clothes. She said she would hang them during the night, and pack them in the morning so they could be sent to her new home. She thanked the girl and was happy to go to bed.

The ring felt strange to her skin. She wasn't used to wearing a ring, but besides the touch of the silver band, there was also the faint spark of magic. She could already imagine herself getting used to the touch.

* * *

_A/N: Sorry for the long wait, but I have to blame it on my thesis and Real Life. You know what I mean. But, new chapter! In case anyone wonders how a corset really does feel like, what I've described here is how I experience it. I have a few of them, and they're not too uncomfortable. You just shouldn't try running in them, but they're better than you would expect!_

_And an anonymous reviewer asked me if this is going to be a Milly/Ralof story. I couldn't reply back, and I wouldn't be much of a writer if I revealed my plot... But I think you can say there are feels, right? And look, it's Ralof's name there in my story header! :) We're going to take a detour with the Companions, but I'll promise Ralof isn't out of this story (he should get more love in the fandom).  
_


	9. Farewell and Welcome

**Chapter 9. Farewell and Welcome**

That night Milly slept badly. She was awake for most of the time, staring out to the shadows in this unfamiliar room. She floated in and out of sleep that was haunted by the faces of too many people. There was her sister, in her beautiful golden bridal gown, with her husband and her former fiancé as he attended the wedding. Her father was there, looking sad as he remembered his own late wife.

Suddenly she was standing at the altar herself, dressed in her mustard gown, with her formal fiancé next to her. His face changed between his own and Ralof's, and the priest, Farkas, gave her a silver wedding ring. Her sister was congratulating her, hugging her, when dragons attacked.

There was uproar, and everyone was running and suddenly only she and her father left. The landscape changed and they were running over hills of white snow, as far as the eye could see. There was no adversary visible, but there was dying haste. She didn't notice the change, but suddenly she and her father had changed to dragons, soaring the skies and flying over Mournhold, to the destroyed island of Vvardenfell and Red Mountain, and suddenly she saw it in its formal glory.

Milly awoke with a start, bathing in cold sweat. She wasn't sure what had been true, what she had made up while she was awake and what was the result of dreams.

She slipped out of bed and pulled a woollen cloak over the white nightgown. As she peered through the gap of the curtains, she saw the deep blue of night had softened, introducing dawn.

She poured water over her face, but it didn't clear away the bags under her eyes. After a moment of consideration, she chose one of the unassuming dresses to wear and twisted her hair in a simple knot. She didn't want to seem like a spoiled girl now her father was somewhat of a hero, so better to look humble.

Something unfamiliar tickled on her finger, and she noticed the small silver ring Ralof had given her. Destruction magic, right? No use to try out something with fire, where she was adept in, as she didn't want to put this place on fire. She knew a little about frost, though, so why not give that a try?

She concentrated on the water in the porcelain bowl in front of her, trough which she could clearly see the smooth surface and the painted details. She gathered her magicka in the palm of her hand, and it _did_ seem to her more was building up in a shorter time. The magicka twirled around in the palm of her hand before she released it.

The water in the bowl froze instantly. However, given that ice has a bigger volume than liquid water, the bowl shattered instantly and the pieces fell on the floor.

By Azura, she hadn't meant to break anything! She tried to gather the pieces, but there were too much shards it wasn't of much use. But by the heavens, this bowl must be worth more than any bowl she ever used, even when she was a little girl.

She wanted to put the gathered pieces back on the cabinet, but as if it was mocking her, there was the frozen water, in the exact shape of the bowl, leaving no space for the shards.

Her head swam with possibilities to do something about this. Why, why, _why_, did she need to try out her magic like this?

She put the shards on another table and went back to her ice. It was frozen well, so much it seemed like a solid piece of crystal. It was still cold however, and her hands were freezing as she took the ice and dropped in into the hearth instead. So, if it melted, it wouldn't ruin the beautifully carved table. It was the smartest plan she could think of.

She went downstairs. It was already rather crowded down in the hall, as a lot of people still wanted to have one last glance of the supposed Dragonborn. Milly half-wondered if some of the people had even went to bed, as some of them still seemed to be rather intoxicated from last night's party. She recognised some of them, even the tall boy she left at the dancing floor, but none seemed to recognise her. So far, her plan to look utterly plain worked. Who thought she would be wearing a humble dress after the velvet gown of the previous night. The light was still dim, so her red hair was muted.

Her father was dressed in travelling clothes and talked to the Jarl, both at the head of the table. As there were too many people surrounding them both, and as she couldn't see Ralof, Milly chose a seat a little way down the table where it was quieter. She could still hear her father and the Jarl talking about the road that was awaiting him.

"I envy you, to walk the 7000 steps again," the Jarl said to her father. "I have made the pilgrimage once, did you know that? High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place, very disconnected from the troubles of the rest of the world."

"That certainly sounds like a welcoming change," Holger replied between two bites of buttered bread. "Though I doubt I'd feel disconnected anywhere in the world, on this moment."

"I do wonder if the Greybeards even noticed what is happening down here. They didn't seem to care before." The Jarl sounded resentful at these words, almost as if he held the Greybeards personally responsible for the civil war.

"At least they noticed me," Holger replied. "So they cannot be blind to what is going on out here."

"That is very true," the Jarl said after some consideration. "It gives me hope they might be caring for what is happening this time."

Milly could hardly eat a bite. She nibbled on a bit of spiced apple but none of the buttered toast and fruit jellies tempted her. Only the tea was agreeable, so she abandoned the food and asked for a refill.

As in a trance, she followed her father as Ralof joined them. He was dressed in travelling clothes too, his blue cloak fastened under his chin. She did not notice the small drizzle of rain as they walked down the many steps, her eyes didn't fell upon Jorrvaskr, her new home, nor the beginning hustle of the market.

Only after they walked through the city gates and they were in front of the stables did she awake. There were two horses, as tall as she was, big-boned and dark brown. She had always felt a little intimidated by the horses she saw in the time she lived in Cheydinhall, but never had she seen ones that were _this_ big. Clearly the horses in Skyrim joined the Nords in being tall.

"I didn't know you were going to _ride_," she said, her voice a little higher than usual as one of the horses turned his head to her.

"Well, it is much quicker, isn't it?" Ralof replied. "And will save us some fatigue. It will gain us saddle pain, but that is much preferred over blisters on the soles of our feet, stitches in the side and painful legs." He grinned.

With a pang she realised she was going to miss that grin dearly.

"And _we_ are not afraid," he father added. "It will be faster, safer and drain less of our endurance. I'm quite happy we are granted with these horses." That last thing he said to the stable boy that was busy fastening some packs to the saddle. Ralof and Holger helped fasten their personal bag as the boy told them about the horses, their names and about their quirks.

"There. All settled they are, sirs," the boy replied and bowed to them. He must be younger than Milly was by some years.

"Well..." Holger said, suddenly a little awkward. "I guess it's time to say goodbye for now, little one. Do post that letter to Gwynneth as soon as possible. And I'll try to send you a letter as soon as I arrived, if the Greybeards have postal service on that mountain of theirs."

"You can try sending smoke signals," tried Milly, her heart not in the joke. "The mountain is high enough for us to see the top, if it isn't cloudy."

"That will just leave us with studying the language of the fume," Holger replied, also not fully-hearted. "We know what to do if we ever find ourselves in abundance in free time."

Holger embraced his daughter, firmly, and pressed a kiss on top of her head. When he released her, he climbed up the saddle of his horse and looked at Ralof with an expression that asked him why he weren't doing the same.

Ralof ignored the man and took Milly gently by the arm, pulling her aside so they were out of Holger's gaze, who rolled his eyes in exasperation. This meant being in the stables, and Milly wasn't sure of being so close to the horses. They had their heads stuck out above their doors and they loomed over her.

Ralof didn't seem to quite know what to say and instead took her hands in his. This made Milly forget about the horses, mostly.

"The ring works, you know," she said quietly as he fiddled with the little band on her finger.

Ralof looked up. "You tested it? And you didn't set the curtains on fire?"

Milly flushed as she remembered the broken bowl. She intended to tell someone about it, but she had utterly forgotten the incident until now. Well, she would make some sort of ointment for the jarl as an apology.

"I broke a porcelain washbowl as I froze the water inside," she confessed flatly. "It was a rather pretty bowl, too."

Ralof laughed, and cupped her cheek in his hand. "That sounds like you." He sounded fondly.

"What?" Milly replied, pulling herself back and then reminding herself that there was a big horse behind her. "Being that clumsy?"

"Perhaps I was talking about the way your cheeks turn red, the way you tilt your head when you speak such a confession and your rueful tone."

Milly stared at him for a while and let him embrace her. While his arms were around her, she dimly admired his way to avoid the real answer. Of course he meant her clumsiness, and only said what he said to make her shut up, but there was something in his eyes that made her lost for words indeed. She closed her eyes and let herself be engulfed by the embrace.

She loved the way his hands lingered on her waist. She loved the pressure behind his touch. It made her feel safe, somehow. She loved the way how he was the perfect height for her to put her head on a comfortable spot on his chest. She wished they could stay like this forever, but of course, Ralof had to go.

"No tears?" Ralof said as they parted. Milly wondered when would be the next time anyone would hold her like that. Or hold her at all, for that matter.

"If you wanted me to cry again, you should have chosen a girl that was fully Breton," she replied matter-of-factly. "You got that treatment once before, and I won't let you endure another one." She remembered their night at the pub, where she sobbed on his shoulder and, before she needed to blush and fall back into shyness, she added, "and it's not as if I will never see you again. I will hold you to that."

Ralof gave a half-smile. "Well, in that case, until we meet again."

He was back at the side of his horse and climbed in the saddle. It was a smooth movement, more gracefully than her father for sure. He must be a proficient rider, and at the very least he had more practise than her father who wasn't used to riding so much anymore as he was in his days in the war.

"Until we meet again," Milly replied to both of them as they drove the horses to a trot and speeded down the hill of Whiterun. Milly stared after them until they disappeared around the corner of her view. She wished that she could have given both her father and Ralof something meaningful, something more than just the pot of healing balm they would have taken along anyway, made by her or someone else. But as it was on the moment, she just didn't have any gold to spend. It wasn't as if her father would ever forget her, and if Rolaf ever had the need to remind her, he would have to do so by his memories. Somewhere deep down she wished she had kissed him, a real kiss, and not whatever they had done in the library.

She was ignorant of her surroundings, lost in herself, until a lady asked her if she was alright. She awoke with a start and realised the woman had been asking her a few times now. And then she realised there _were_ tears streaming down her cheeks. For how long? She did not know.

She assured the lady she was quite alright indeed and thanked her for her consideration. She gave the landscape one last view. The drizzle of rain had stopped and a watery sun was showing itself from beyond the grey clouds.

The grassy hills were slowly starting to get brown. It flowed in the wind likes waves, making the hills seem alive. Shrubbery, large stones, and patches of colourful flowers dotted the landscape, but it was mostly devoid of trees. The trees that were present were gnarled and looked like they had to fight the elements with everything they had to stay alive. The river shone in the early morning sun, a silver ribbon declining between the hills. In the distance, all around her, were tall mountains, brown and grey. The taller ones to the southeast, to where her father was going, were capped in glistering, everlasting snow. Whiterun was like a lonely mountain sitting in a large tundra, surrounded by taller mountains that looked down upon it.

It _was_ beautiful here, without a doubt. It was rough, wide, and so unlike the big city of Mournhold or the more sheltered forest city that was Cheydinhal. And the air was fresh, fresh and pure as it had been in Cheydinhal, but with a distinctive different scent.

It was late Last Seed already and the summer was coming to a close. In Mournhold, it would be warm for some time yet, but fall arrived earlier here in Skyrim. In the winter, she didn't doubt that there would be snow in the city. A new experience again. In Mournhold it never snowed, and when had they arrived in Cheydinhal, the snowy season was over already.

As she turned to climb back up the hill to her new home, her eyes fell upon the ruins of the watch tower where her father defeated the dragon. She wondered for a moment what had happened to the body of the dragon. Would it still be there, exposed to decay? Would it be burned? _Could_ you burn the body of a dragon? And if you could, wouldn't Farengar have objected and claimed the carcass for research?

She had read old alchemy books on the University from ages ago that still told of the use of dragon blood. It would be nice to be able to take the blood with her to the nearest University. She remembered it in a place called Winterhold. Now, _that_ certainly sounded like a place too cold for her to appreciate.

And even so, no. Her times of research were over. It was time to take all she had learned to practise and actually make potions and salves, instead of dabbling with ingredients and see if her theories about possible abilities were true or not. It was something she could do, she had no doubt about it. Had she not done a similar thing in Cheydilhal? It hardly mattered if she sold them to the public or made them on request of her employer. She had a room above her head, a new city to explore and new stories to be told.

Feeling confident in her abilities, Milly shrugged her cloak a little tighter around herself and started to ascend the many steps again that would lead her to Jorrvaskr.

She felt odd as she walked through the city. The market district was in full business now, busy with noises and chatter and salesmen prizing their goods. There were children running through the adult, mothers calling after them and people with large heavy baskets filled with newly bought wares. It was strangely lonely, walking through the merry sounds, and not really knowing anyone around for miles.

But she _would_ get to know new people. She wasn't lonely. She was merely alone, not lonely, on the moment, but it made all the differences there was. She smiled at a little girl and walked with bigger, surer steps.

As Milly reached the impressive building that was to become her new home, she did fall back a bit. She felt intimidated by the building, by the Companions that all were fighters, to the last one. Would they really appreciate her? Would they be friendly? Would they care to get to know her?

As she reached the few steps in front of the building, she heard noise. Noise like fighting, steel-on-steel, yelling and heavy panting. As she wondered where it came from, and just before she wanted to knock on the door, a figure approached her from the left.

"You must be the new alchemist girl everyone's been talking about," he said, and Milly turned to stare at him.

It was an elderly man, his long hair and beard snowy white. No matter his age, he was quite muscular and seemed to be immune to the icy breeze that affected her. Even though he looked so impressive, the look on his face was kind.

"Yes, sir, that is correct," she replied quickly, as in not to look insolent. "I am Milly Greenthorn, and I will be working for you now on. If you are one of the Companions, that is."

The old man gave a grin. "Eorlund Gray-Mane," he said. "And while I might work with the Companions, I am not one myself. I work the Skyforge up there and craft the weapons and armour of the Companions." He gestured to the path he just walked down from, that ended in some sort of space shaded by protruding rock. "So, it seems we will be alike, won't we, little lass? Not a Companion ourselves, but still working with them."

Milly gave the man a kind smile back. He seemed nice enough, and perhaps the problems with Nords, she realised, was just that they looked so intimidating with their height and muscles, but they were actually just nice personalities underneath.

"It seems we are," she replied.

"Come along then. They are training in the back yard."

She followed Eorlund around the building. It turned out there was a whole training field, not visible from the square in the city. There was some sort of veranda at the back of the building where most of the Companions sat, and in front of that was a flat field where currently the two brothers were sparring each other, being cheered on by the rest. It was a quite spacious area between the city walls and the building, with apple trees around and some green bushes.

She guessed that the day would count as a nice one, for Skyrim standards, now that the rain had stopped. She earth was quite muddy, but that didn't seem to hinder any of the brothers. And in any case, practise with sort of footing must be quite handy, as the circumstances of a real fight were hardly ideal anyway.

Nobody seemed to have noticed them yet, as they stayed a little to the side to watch the fight. This suited Milly well, because now she could observe the rest a bit in what she called their "natural habitat". There were a bit more than a dozen people watching the match, and she would guess that about a quarter of them were female fighters. By far most of them were Nords, but she guessed a few of them must be Imperial. Athis, the Dunmer whom she saw playing the lute when she entered Jorrvaskr for the first time, was the only Mer around.

It still stroke her as odd that the mere presence of a Dunmer with their ashen blue skin and red eyes could make her feel at home. Then again, she had spoken to him the day she made the proposition to the Companions, and he was actually born in Mournhold too. She daren't ask, but she was almost sure it wasn't in Godsreach, the manor district, like herself. And if he was born in the slums, that were quite extensive with all the fugitives from Vvardenfell that still hadn't been able to find a permanent home, then his memories of the city couldn't quite be happy ones.

As she looked around, she noticed that the bit of protruding rock that sheltered the area that Eorland indicated as the Skyforge, was in fact a giant carved eagle. The details of the carved figure seemed faded by time, but the massive height of it was imposing nonetheless. The Companions were an old group, formed all the way back in the Merethic Era. If the statue was from that time, it wasn't surprising that it looked somewhat damaged. The hall must have been build several times after fires, but rock wasn't harmed by flames.

A particular loud metal-on-metal noise made her look back to the fighting twins. Both of the men were wearing a long sword in one hand and a shield in the other. The shields were from metal, not wood as she has seen before, and besides being completely unadorned, were also rather dented. Surely they must be practise shields.

In the end, it was Farkas who managed to disarm Vilkas first.

"Next time, we'll go for the claymores," Vilkas panted. "I am sure to win then. But you are more skilled when it comes down to single-handed swords, and you earned your victory."

The brothers clapped each other on the shoulder after they had put the swords and shield on a table at the side.

"Vilkas fights Aela," Skjor, the rugged-looking older member of the Circle said. "And Farkas fights me afterwards. We do have to establish who is the best sword-and-shield fighter of us."

"Only because that is _your_ forte," Aela replied in a rather stony voice. We'll go for archery next, see who will win then."

Before Skjor could replied and a row would initiate, Eorlund stepped forward and gave Milly a little push in the back.

"I found our new alchemist at the entrance," he said, and all heads turned to them. "Seems like you have the newest inhabitants of your halls. I thought to drop her off before the wife needs me. Everybody, meet Milly Greenthorn."

Milly stepped forwards, facing the Companions under the veranda. About half of them were unfamiliar to her. She pasted a confident smile on her face, yet wasn't sure what to do. If anything, these people didn't seem quite refined and would probably laugh if she curtsied. So, feeling silly and rude, she lifted her hand and gave a small wave. Some of them waved back.

"That's right," she replied.

"It'll be her who will be patching up any wounds and bruises you receive," Eorlund added. "And, now we've concluded that, I will be off."

"You can patch me up any time," one of the young Nord members said with a grin on his lips, just loud enough for her to hear.

Milly willed the ugly pink flush to go away.

Farkas didn't hear the comment, or simply didn't care. "I'll get you to Kodlak, lass, he will show you your new quarters. We have asked all the Companions to attend the feast tonight, as is customary when we get new member. We have quite some members that only do some little jobs for us and don't live in our halls. I think it is always a nice beginning to meet everybody. Kodlak, sir," she said when they were in his office. He had left the doors open. "I bring you Milly."

Kodlak was a kind man. He asked Milly how she felt and tried to make her feel comfortable with a cup of tea, a pastry and a few little tales about the Companions or the city.

"There are many rooms under Jorrvaskr that are empty now," Kodlak said as he was guiding her through the underground corridor and around a corner. "We used to be much, much bigger and had many employees living within our hall. And as it turned out, we once used to have our own alchemist living here."

He opened the door and showed Milly in.

She could hardly believe her eyes. The room was quite splendid, a large rug on the floor and beautiful rosewood furniture. The main feature of the room was a massive desk, that ran halfway along the left wall and then angled inwards, so it almost looked like a reception. There was a large fireplace with room and supplies enough to heat up water and potions, a handsome bookcase filled with books she longed to touch and even two plump arm chairs and a little table.

There were faded green draperies and a small tapestry on the wall to keep the cold of the underground away, a large rug under the chairs, and a doorway to what she assumed were private chambers. As she walked further, she eyed the elaborate crystal alchemy set on the desk. It was decorated with brass and patterns of little flowers were painted on the glass. She had known sets like these from her time at the university, they were old and delicate, but the quality was superb and they could attune to the smallest tweaks if she wanted. It would almost be a shame to use such a magnificent set.

She continued after Kodlak through the doorway and found a second, smaller room, with a bed, wardrobe, dresser, fireplace and dressing screen that hid a corner of the room from view.

"A servant from Dragonsreach came earlier to bring your personal belongings along," Kodlak commented and indicated the chest at the foot of the bed. "I hope this is to your liking, lass?"

"Oh, it is," Milly replied hastily, having found herself almost at a loss for words. "It is better than I could have dreamed. I would do well here, I'll be able to make anything you require. The alchemists must have been held in great esteem, if these were their quarters."

Kodlak chuckled. "They were indeed, in the old times. And who knows, perhaps this might be a step in restoring our former glory, wouldn't you say? But none of that today. Tomorrow you will start with your duties and you can take stock of missing supplies and acquire ingredients. I would think it reasonable to pay you on a weekly basis, so you can indulge in whatever little things you please."

"Yes, that sounds very reasonable indeed, sir," Milly replied, who had only dared hope for food and shelter.

"Good. We have that settled then," Kodlak concluded. "You can make yourself home here and then come upstairs for the midday meal when you are ready."

He gave her a polite nod and Milly couldn't help herself but drop a hurried curtsy in reply.

When she was alone in the rooms, she let her hands glide over the carved furniture. The headboard of the bed was carved with roses and birds. The books in the bookcase seemed quite helpful indeed, with titles as "Flora of Tamriel and its uses", "Advanced healing potions" and even little books as "Guard your potion from becoming poison – main instructions to avoid alchemical disasters."

The books were old, at least several decades, if not a century, but that hardly mattered. The shelf at the bottom had some books on other topics, history, myths and a novel or two.

The tapestry above the chairs depicted a scene from nature, a doe and a stag at a stream with flowers and trees. For a moment she dropped herself down in one of the chairs, that turned out to be quite comfortable, and revelled in these unforeseen surprises.

_Well_, she thought to herself. _This isn't going to be so bad after all._

She was getting rather hungry now. She had hardly eaten anything this morning and last night had been weird due to the corset – _was that really only last night_? She decided to make one last turn through her chamber. It felt amazing to be able to call these chambers _hers_. There was one place she hadn't looked yet. Behind the dressing screen was a wash stand, and, as in to mock her again, on top of it stood a simple, porcelain bowl.

* * *

_A/N: I'm extremely sorry for the long wait. I moved to London (London!) exactly 3 months ago today to study for 6.5 months, and somehow I thought I would have lots of spare time. Turns out I don't. Still, I'm enjoying myself immensely, and I love the city, the buildings, the museums, the parks, and the British people too... I can't believe I'm almost halfway through my time already!_

_Anyway, I finished another chapter, which was somehow very difficult for me to write, perhaps because I'm sort of in the same position as Milly with being new and alone in such a big town. I have finished many parts of the next bit of storyline ages ago, so updates should be more frequent now!_

_Love for all that came back to read and love for new readers too. Cookies for all! 3_


	10. Dangers of Flower-picking

**Chapter 10. Dangers of Flower-picking**

It was odd how rapidly you can get used to a completely new environment. The first few day of her new job were strange, where she needed to get accustomed to everything and settle herself in comfortably. Milly posted the letter to her sister, acquired all the equipment that was missing, and bought a good supply of ingredients at Arcadia's, who was quite happy to help her with anything she needed.

And then, before she knew it, her new rooms were so familiar to her, and after a week she really did feel at _home_. It felt bizarre, almost as if it was a disgrace to everything she had ever called home before. This place now felt more at home that the little house above the shop in Cheydinhal ever had, and even more than her small private quarters at the Arcane University of Mournhold.

And then she got used to the daily activities. Morning time was quiet, where they had breakfast with only the core group of the Companions. Or well, it was as quiet as it could get with several battle-hungry warriors around, of course. The rest of her morning was spend in her own rooms, making potions and salves or whatever they required of her, which could range from a tea to cure headache to a potion that made you see well in total darkness, or that made you able to hide in clear sight.

As some of these weirder things were requested by members that weren't going on a missions, she understood fully well they were misusing everything they gave her for a joke and to figure out if she really was so competent. Some of these potions required expensive ingredients, so she soon requested additional payment if someone asked for anything suspicious. Besides her personal payment, she had to fit all the expenses in a weekly budget, and she would spend it better making useful salves.

After the first week she had build a stock of all the most commonly used concoctions and she could give a selected collection away to Companions that were going on a mission. It was quite fun, most times. She liked the delicate sounds of bubbling potions, liked the colours of the water and the beautiful equipment. Most of the time her quarters smelled like flowers, but sometimes, when she worked with ingredients like mudcrab chitin or fungi, the smell could be quite horrifying indeed. Luckily the architect of the building had taken this into consideration, and the flow of air through the chimney was quite capable of clearing nasty scents away without taking too much time.

Lunchtime was a more crowded affair. Some of the non-residential members turned up for a light meal like soup before an afternoon spend training. Sometimes Milly would watch them, sometimes she would be doing other things, and sometimes the Companions would ask her to join. They all found this an amusing business.

Athis had taken a brotherly liking for Milly, perhaps because she felt the same about him. He taught her how to use a dagger, how she should hold it for maximum grip, and where she needed to strike the body to get the most impact. It was actually rather enlightening. It might still be summarised back to "point and stab", but there were places where the "stab" had significantly more impact than others. Aela taught her archery, something Milly liked and wasn't too bad at. She had to do with a short bow, though, because the bows that were as tall as she needed quite the muscle force to pull back, and she didn't nearly have enough strength.

The evening meal was always rowdy and messy. Everyone was hungry from training. There was meat, a variety of vegetables and bread, sometimes separate, sometimes in a stew, but it was always accompanied by a tankard of mead or ale. This was the time for songs and stories and sometimes brawls. Whatever it was, it was always loud in the hall.

She enjoyed herself most around Aela, strong and independent, but also a nice talker, and of course Athis, whom would sometimes play tunes from Morrowind on his lute for her. Farkas might not be the most intelligent of all Companions, but she could only describe him as a sweetheart and he was always considerate about everything. He could make her feel comfortable anywhere.

When they were away, or busy with the other Companions, Milly would slip away after supper and cuddle up with a book in front of her fireplace in the comfortable chairs. It wasn't as if she really disliked the other Companions, but some of them were just too loud for her, and she very well realised some of them thought her silly, with her potions and manners and lack of physical strength.

She didn't mind that much, though. They usually left her alone, or only exchanged small talk, which suited her fine. There was only one of the Companions which had an outright dislike for her, and that was Vilkas. She had no idea whatever she might have done to wrong him, but it seemed her very existence was enough. Had he not displayed hostility when she made the proposition?

It was a pity, though. If only he wouldn't look at her with detest in his silver eyes, she might actually like him. He was polite enough to everybody else, and seemed to be the smartest one around too. They could have had interesting conversation if he would be willing to speak to her normally. As it was now, she simply couldn't like someone who seemed so intent on disliking _her_. Instead, she ignored him, what made him ignore her, which suited her fine.

Besides her potions and concoctions, she somehow never let the Companions know about her other magical skills. She knew most people felt a mixture of fear and distrust for things they did not understand, and magic was one of those things that plainly wasn't understood my many. She resorted to using it only when she was by herself, using fire to light the hearth, or heat her bathing water, making orbs of light appear when she didn't feel like using candles. They were underground, after all, and her orbs were more similar to daylight than firelight was. She liked the orbs bobbing over her head when she walked around, like a lovable pet bird.

And she also practised healing magic. She devoted at least a quarter of an hour every day to increase her abilities, and after two weeks, she noticed she was getting better. She didn't have any real patient to try it in – luckily, she should say – but she had the feeling she was steadily improving.

She had dreams, as everyone has, of rescuing a mortally wounded member – she envisaged Vilkas here – climbing over the doorstep, leaving a bloody trail behind. Everyone was already mourning, it was too late to get a doctor or a healer, and then she would come, knit all the open wounds back together, mend the broken bones, clean up all the blood, and restore all strength with a single spell. _Then_ the Companions would come to respect her for sure, and perhaps even Vilkas would reconsider his dislike.

Somewhere in her mind she was happy that she didn't have to deal with mortally wounded warriors, for she was sure neither a potions nor a spell could help her then, and all would think it was her fault, because dealing with injuries was her responsibly now.

But whatever her dreams or fears might be, the fact was that she doing a great job, and Kodlak saw no reason at all to reconsider his decision to hire her.

* * *

The morning almost three weeks after her arrival, Milly woke early after a troubled night's sleep. She was worried for her father for a few days now. He said he would contact her when he arrived, and he should have arrived two weeks earlier. Was he stranded at the road, killed by bandits, or was his letter simply delayed? She wasn't surprised that she hadn't received a letter of her sister yet. Mournhold was far away, and it would be some while more before she expected a reply.

Knowing it would be no use to try and fall asleep again, she rose early, dressed and braided her hair, pinning it down to her head.

Lazily, she walked to the cabinet that hold her supplies, taking a look of her stock, to make mental notes of what was running out. She wasn't quite happy with some of the ingredients she got from Arcadia's. There were several flowers that grew in the tundra, close by, and still the quality of their preservation was only mediocre. Mountain flowers, perfect for restoring health, thistle, to keep the cold away on long journeys, lavender, which had many applications and fresh tundra cotton, perfect to use to pad wounds, all grew in the tundra surrounding Whiterun. And well, wouldn't it be cheaper, and of a better quality, if she were to collect them herself?

Feeling quite pleased with the decision to collect them, she walked upstairs to breakfast. Only Vilkas and Aela were sitting at the table, eating in silence. Aela looked as if she was still asleep. Vilkas ignored her. There were two empty seat between them, and Milly sat down in the chair next to Aela.

She said good morning, and only got a muttered reply back from Aela, who was stabbing her eggs. She sliced herself some bread, buttered it and ladled it with berry preserves. It remained silent as she started to eat, a silence that felt most uncomfortable to her with Vilkas as the only other person around who seemed awake.

"I've been thinking to go out to the tundra and collect some of my own ingredients," she said between bites. "There are quite a lot of flowers, and I can pick the best ones myself." She wasn't quite sure whom she spoke to, because Aela seemed in no mood to converse, and she would hardly get a reply out of Vilkas.

She almost choked on her next bite as Vilkas _did_ say something back to her.

"Going out to the tundra?" he repeated, turning his head to face her. His voice wasn't kind.

Milly was able to swallow the bite in a dignified manner, and turned to frown at Vilkas' words. He had his eyebrows raised, and looked as if he wasn't taking her seriously. There was something about his silver eyes that made her nervous. Farkas' eyes were the same colour, but he never looked at anyone other than with a kind gaze. Farkas' eyes seemed to burn with a passion, and seemed so much more able to draw in surrounding light.

She hated herself that her pulse quickened whenever he looked at her. She hated the flustered feeling, hated knowing that she flushed pink. She hated herself that he could make her feel that way.

"You do know it is dangerous outside of the city walls, don't you?" Vilkas continued. "There are wolves. There are giants, mammoths, that will attack if you're not careful and can crush you with ease. There might be dragons. The tundra isn't a friendly place you can go to pick flowers in the sunshine, if that's what you had been expecting."

Milly hardly knew what to say, how to react. She felt frozen, her pulse seemed to drop. So, Vilkas was even this hostile in the morning? Collecting herself, feeling indignant, she replied, "I'm not going to look for danger. There are many people who travel the roads between cities, and they arrive all safely. We were never in any danger when we travelled from Riverwood to Whiterun. Even when we were on the mountains, we never stumbled upon wolves."

"You were lucky," Vilkas replied, his tone back to indifference. "How many other travellers do you think there are? The ones that never arrive at their destination, that do get eaten by wolves, robbed and killed by bandits? You never hear about them, because they never make it to the end."

"So, according to you, people should never travel outside of the city walls?" Milly said, still indignantly.

Vilkas took the time to take a bite of his breakfast with a horrible calm, taking his time before replying. "That is not what I mean," he spoke, not looking at her. "I mean that people who have no means of defending themselves shouldn't go to places with danger. They'll get themselves killed. I'm not forbidding you to go. Go ahead, if that's what you want, but don't say I didn't warn you when you come eye to eye with a pack of wolves."

"You really don't think I can defend myself, do you?" Milly said, angry that he didn't even look at her while he spoke to her, but casually continued to eat. She hadn't noticed herself rising from her chair, but found herself standing on her feet now. She raised her right hand next to her face. "Tell you what. I might not be strong enough to swing a sword. I might not yet be good enough with a bow and arrow to strike true. And a dagger might not be very useful against a feral animal. But what I do possess is magic." The air ignited in her raised palm, flames melting together to a hot ball of fire. She let it roar and crackle, brighter and louder than the fire in the middle of the hall. She was still surprised to notice how much Ralof's ring intensified her destructive magic. A part of her mind, one that was itching just beneath the surface, told her to release the roaring ball and hit Vilkas in the face. That would serve him right. It was tempting.

"I killed a man back in Helgen with fire when he attacked me. I put my hand to his face and released my flames. I escaped a dragon, a dragon that destroyed an entire town. And before that, I was able to come from the Imperial City to the borders without being in any danger. So, I would like you to take me seriously for once."

With wicked humour she noticed that Vilkas face had softened and was bearing a look of mild surprise, at the least. The fire reflected in his eyes, red-hot spots dancing around the silver. She let the fire die out.

He opened his mouth to gave a reply, but it was Aela that spoke first.

"Whoa..." she uttered. "That's _scary_, girl. Remind me never to get on your bad side. You should have showed us before."

Before Milly could say anything, Farkas came walking from the stairs.

"So, we're showing off dangerous hidden skills this morning?" he called. "Why the show-off?"

"Your brother thinks I am unable to defend myself," she said gloomily. "I wanted to prove that I wasn't. I want to go out to the tundra to collect my own flowers."

Farkas sat down between his brother and Milly.

"Isn't that a little dangerous?" he replied, looking at her with an unfazed look.

"You're taking _his_ side?" Milly replied incredulously.

"Are there any sides, then?" Aela said, mixing in. "Milly, you know I like you, but aren't you being stubborn here just to go against Vilkas?"

Milly turned to look at her. Well, there went her two friends. She sighed, slumping back into her chair, feeling useless. She was sure she could handle something like a wolf if she saw one coming, but a pack of them, or a group of bandits... She wasn't so sure she could indeed defend herself. Listlessly, she picked at the rest of her breakfast.

"You want to go to the tundra to collect ingredients?" Farkas said again, taking bread for himself. "As you know, I planned to get out to the tundra too, to hunt down one more shard of Wulfthad. It's not too far away. I could accompany you on your collecting tour, and secure a safe place for you when I'm away collecting the shard in the cairn."

Milly's face lit up. "Are you sure?"

"Well, it would fit together nicely, don't you think?"

Aela nodded approvingly. "Well, everybody happy then."

The rest of the breakfast was spend going over a plan. They would leave the morning after next, spend the day collecting flowers, then camp out and the next day, Farkas would retrieve the shard. Depending upon what sort of resistance he stumbled, they might be able to leave the same day or otherwise the next.

As Milly was finished with her breakfast, she noticed a stinging sensation on her hand. She looked down on it, and found a small burn spot, about the size of a coin.

Well, so much for fire magic.

Vilkas had noticed the spot, and muttered quietly. "Can't even defend herself without hurting herself at the same time."

Milly rose from her chair, deliberately. She raised her chin in the air, dignified. Vilkas could walk to Oblivion, for all she cared.

"But I, in contradiction to you, am able to heal myself, mister."

* * *

Most of the day and the next one, she hid herself in her own room. The afternoon before she left, Athis insisted her upon more training with a dagger, and showed her how, by throwing, you could change it from being only a simple short-ranged weapon, to a ranged one.

"But you have to be careful, sera," he said in a grin. "If you have only one dagger, throw it and miss, you'll find yourself unarmed. That might not be the most desirable condition."

It was a nice training session. She felt it was something she was good at, and that made her confident. When she was young, she used to excel in moving without being seen and sneaking under her parents' eyes. She might be much bigger now, but what if she hadn't lost the ability? She grinned to herself. In other circumstances she might have turned into an assassin. Wasn't a dagger their preferred weapon, after all?

She ate supper alone in her quarters that evening. She fretted over her pack in the meantime, deciding what she should and shouldn't take along with her. Aela gave her a pair of leather trousers that were perfect at keeping the cold of the tundra away, which she had to cut to fit her. Feeling much too dignified for wearing trousers and showing her legs – _how outrageous_ – she opted instead to wear it under two woollen skirts, that would also provide warmth.

At last feeling content with her pack, late at night, Milly brushed out her hair and wanted to go to bed. Just as she wanted to take her robe off, she spotted the empty bowl of stew on one of the side tables. She knew Tilma the housekeeper always wanted them to put their dirty dishes away every evening. If she left out a bow that still smelled like stew, it might attract mice, and they wouldn't want that.

Deciding it was best to bring it to the kitchen, she grabbed the bowl, and exited her quarters. What she missed was, that at that exact moment, somebody walked past her door, finding his way to his own quarters to retreat for the night. She slammed right into the person, her bowl shattering. Hands grabbed her shoulders so that she didn't fall backwards to the floor.

She looked up to find Vilkas gazing down at her, releasing her the moment she made eye contact. He looked shocked, if anything, and at a loss for words.

"I – I'm sorry," gasped Milly, who still felt the strong gasp on her shoulders. "I – I didn't think anyone would still be out bed."

"So did I," he said shortly, but there was something like an amusing smile forming on his lips. It was an odd expression, one she didn't see him wearing often, and she looked at him curiously, her heart beating with increased speed.

He suddenly stared down on his hand, and found that one of the shards of the bowl had cut him. His middle finger was bleeding, and the palm of his hand was red with blood already.

"O goody," Milly said, her voice high. She stepped aside. "I can heal that for you, just step inside."

"There's no need," he replied, and he wanted to stick his finger in his mouth to suck on it. Milly grabbed his wrist.

"You shouldn't," she said. "It might infect." She showed him inside her room and picked the shards from the floor before she followed him. She put them on the desk and turned to Vilkas. He was looking around, probably never seen the room from the inside. Milly searched through her cabinet to find some cotton and a potion, but then seemed to remind herself something.

"Sit down," she said to Vilkas, who took place in one of the two chairs in front of the lit fireplace. He held his hand up, the blood now seeping over his wrist.

Milly dabbed it away with the pad of cotton, then held her hand above his fingers. His hands were so much bigger than hers, so noticed, before she closed her eyes. She thought about little specs of blue light, gathering under her hand, flying into the wound, knitting the flesh together, closing the veins, sealing the cut.

Vilkas wanted to jerk away his hand as he saw the light, but Milly kept her grasp on his wrist. It wasn't a very large wound, and after a short moment, she opened her eyes and looked at a clean, very much healthy, hand.

She released Vilkas and he pulled his hand closer, flexing his finger and looking at his skin.

"That's quite spectacular," he replied in wonder, and somehow he looked entirely relaxed. She stared for a moment in appreciation of her work as he continued to examine his hand and wiped away some of the blood that was still on it.

And then, quite suddenly, she felt very awkward. It was the first time she really saw Vilkas after breakfast the previous day. It was also the first time she actually spoke with him normally. She didn't know how to pose herself, what she should say.

Vilkas shuffled in his chair, she heard, but she stared at the fireplace, avoiding him. Did he feel uncomfortable now as well? Part of her hoped he did, as she liked the idea of him not knowing how to react.

She didn't know how, but she could feel his eyes upon her. It made her flutter, which made her hate herself again. She fiddled with the ring on her finger, and tried to recall Ralof before her eyes. He almost never was at a loss for words. He never really made her feel awkward like she felt now, he would say something funny.

She looked at Vilkas again, whom indeed had been looking her way. He was younger, and also not as tall as Ralof was. She partly wished Vilkas would hold her the way Ralof did when he said goodbye, at the stables, but immediately shoved the thought away. It felt like a betrayal to Ralof, which was weird, because they never really had done anything. Sure, she had gotten this ring, but it was without any promise whatsoever, and it was possible that after these three weeks, he had forgotten about her.

"I should probably leave," Vilkas said, sounding unsure. "You have to rise early in the morning. And I should thank you for mending the cut." The tone was almost grudgingly. What had changed in him?

"I – yes," replied Milly. "I do have to leave early, indeed."

As Vilkas rose, she couldn't help herself. "Do you really think I can't defend myself?"

She wished she could swallow her words before she was done speaking as she saw the look on Vilkas' face. He was frowning, just a little bit, staring at her with a neutral expression. He was good at that, she thought. She knew her own face was like an open book, most of the time. And even so, while his face pas passive, his eyes still seemed to burn fervently.

"I thought you were, yes," he replied, thinking the question over. "But perhaps I was wrong. Fire can be dangerous, and not only for your enemies, as you should realise." He was observing her. "But with weapons? If a group of bandits were to come your way, armed heavily, I don't think you would be able to defend yourself, no."

Somehow, even if he spoke them objectively, made her want to fight back. It made her feel small, insignificant. She was half ready to give a heated reply, when she, all of a sudden, became aware of her appearance. Her hair was loose, neatly brushed, falling over the small of her back. She wore a heavy green robe, but it fell open in the front and revealed her white nightgown.

She was mortified as she realised this, wanting nothing more than to vanish behind the second door to her bedroom, or at least wrap her robe around her. She knew her face must be pink now, and if she did close her robe, Vilkas would realise she was embarrassed, and she wouldn't give him that pleasure.

He seemed to interpret her blush differently. "But Farkas is coming along, and he can handle quite some foes. You'll be safe on your trip."

Was he _soothing_ her?

"Good – goodnight," Vilkas said when she didn't say anything and kept staring at him.

As he left the room, it was a few more second before Milly realised she could move. She closed the door, leaning against it.

She wiped a hand through her curls.

_So much for dignity._

Still not quite understanding what had happened, Milly retreated back to her bedroom. She did need to rise early, after all. And then she would get to the tundra. She wondered what might happen there. Was it really so dangerous? Yawning, she decided that she would learn in time.

* * *

_AN: Somehow, in my planning, this entire chapter was only 1 page before the action that's coming next, and somehow, it managed to stretch itself out to this size. When did that happen? _

_Time's going by too fast with weekend visits, but I can't complain. I visited the Harry Potter studios yesterday! (and yes, it was amazing) I'm still tired now, so instead of reading articles at university, what I'm supposed to be doing, I thought to finish this and post it. It actually looks as if you're very busy if you're typing in word!_

_Enjoy your week ~  
_


	11. Fire on the Tundra

**Chapter 11. Fire on the Tundra**

Her pack was heavy. They had barely passed the city gate and Milly wondered when next they would be resting so she could take the load of her back. The sun was just rising, bathing the sky behind Whiterun's hill orange and red. She would have appreciated it under any other circumstances.

Farkas was happily telling about his last adventure out of Whiterun, and Milly was happy to listen to his chatter. The last journey, he had travelled far away and encountered bears and mountain lions, that, he assured her, weren't found in the tundra.

They had almost climbed down from the hill, when Farkas made an unexpected turn to the stables.

"I do hope they have Scar and Yngol ready, just as I asked," he said over his shoulder, walking to the young stable boy.

Milly halted her steps. Scar and Yngol? And they were in the stables? This could only mean horses, couldn't it?

After Farkas spoke to him, the stable boy disappeared around the corner. Farkas followed him and Milly had to swallow a great lump in her throat before she followed. Around the corner were two horses, chestnut brown, one of them munching hay and the other one looking up, curiously.

"Thank you," Farkas said and gave the boy a few coins. Together they started strapping this pack to the saddle of the bigger, darker brown horse. It seemed uninterested and continued to eat. Besides their size, they didn't look fiendish at all.

"If you give us your bags, we'll fasten them for you." Farkas looked at her, kindly, his hand outstretched to receive her baggage.

"I didn't know we were going to ride," Milly said, her voice surprisingly normal, because she felt small and insignificant on the moment. She didn't want to appear too scared, so she strapped her pack from her back, trying not to show her reluctance.

Farkas laughed. "Well, you could hardly have expected to walk the entire part. I don't mean anything by it, girl, but that pack would have floored you in the next mile."

Milly was silent as they fastened her pack to the light brown horse. It was staring curiously around itself, trying to look what they were doing on her back, and then looking at Milly. It stretched its neck in her direction, and Milly, being trapped in front of a large haystack, had nowhere to go. The horse pressed its nose to her belly.

She gave a small yelp in fear, and almost tripped backward on the hay. Farkas noticed it and grinned.

"She doesn't hurt a fly, this one," he said, patting the horse on her neck affectionately. "She's just a little curious, this one. She's very obedient. This little brute over here, however, only does what he wants himself." He patted the taller horse, whom still ignored him.

Slowly, carefully, Milly raised an hand and wanted to reach to stroke the shiny fur of the neck, when the horse pressed her nose against it. The nose was soft, softer than any velvet she ever touched. Carefully, she removed her hand and patted the neck.

"Scar enjoys to be spoiled, she does," Farkas said with a smile. It seemed he held the horses in great esteem. "Off we go," he said, and unchained his horse from the wall. The stable boy did the same with hers, and led them outside.

Milly stared at the saddle. She was just able to stare over the mare's back, if she stood on tip-toes. She looked at Farkas, nervously, as he wanted to climb on top of his horse. He halted, looking back at her.

"I don't think you can get on by yourself, can you?" he noted.

"I've never ridden a horse before in my life," she replied, her voice small.

Farkas raised his eyebrows. "You haven't?" he asked. "I thought everyone knew how to ride."

"I am afraid I'm not from Skyrim," Milly reminded him. "Mournhold doesn't have horses, but for some coaches."

Farkas seemed baffled. "Well, Scar is the perfect one to learn it, in that case."

He gave the reins to the stable boy and moved over to her horse.

"I'm wearing skirts," she said, uncertain. She couldn't imagine any way she could sit on a horse and look dignified. And wasn't that what her mother always told her, that no matter what she did, one should be reminded to appear dignified?

"You – you aren't wearing anything underneath?" Farkas almost seemed to blush. It was unlike him, she thought.

"Aela gave me a pair of her trousers," she admitted.

"Well, that's good then," he replied, and there was nothing to it but to be helped in the saddle by him. She could hardly object to showing her lower legs to a man who lived with women as Aela, who showed quite some more than just the outline of a leather-clad leg.

And thus, feeling indecent, Milly sat on her horse, Scar, her skirts lifted to her knees. She had imaged it to be wobbly, but it was unexpectedly steady. The mare's back was broad, and she could already imagine quite some pain in unmentionable body parts before the day was out. But, being all settled, there was nothing to it but to start walking. Farkas told her how to guide the horse in the direction she wanted, and indeed, Scar did everything she asked without question. Farkas himself, in the meantime, had more problems keeping his horse in hand, but experienced as he was, he always won from Yngol.

When she was used to walking, she started to appreciate the surroundings. The hills were made of rolling gold, the withered grass flowing with the wind. The wind wasn't too chilly as she was wrapped in a warm woollen cloak with cap. The hill of Whiterun grew smaller and smaller to their left, and finally disappeared behind the hills of the tundra. The surrounding mountains were white-capped and she could see snowstorms in the far distance, white clouds cloaking tall mountaintops from view.

They took their midday meal in the loom of a small hill on which grew a large field of blue mountain flowers. Milly took great care slicing their stems with her silver dagger and preserved them, wrapped between linen cloth.

After their break, she tried to ignore the pain in her upper legs from riding the broad mare. They stopped a few times more on spots where she collected lavender and other flowers. Every time she got her feet back on the soil again, it became increasingly harder to walk normally. But every time, she got more and more used to riding a horse, and by mid-afternoon, she wondered why her sweet mare was ever given an ugly name as _Scar_.

Even though she thought Scar was sweet, she still didn't like riding that much. The scenery changed at the end of the afternoon, as the tundra began to flow into the foot of the mountains. There were more and more trees growing, not only gnarled ones, but tall evergreen trees like firs and pines. The landscape was spotted by tall rocks on which there grew no grass, and it became more and more hilly.

She was glad when Farkas announced they had arrived at their destination. He pointed to a pit that was sunken in the landscape, with a stairway circling around it and a tall wooden door in the wall. That was where the fragment was, and it was where Farkas would be going the next morning.

Feet on the soil, Milly rubbed over her legs and behind. She wondered for how many more days she would feel the aches, and almost hoped she didn't have to get back on her horse the following day. Farkas seemed fine and began to unpack the horses. He had chosen a spot behind a group of fir trees, that would provide some shelter from the chilly wind. He tended for the horses and bound them to the trees while Milly unwrapped the packs. There was a small stream nearby where she could collect water.

When Farkas was finished with the horses, he took his bow and arrows and shot a rabbit for their dinner. He skinned and gutted the animal, burying the remains so they wouldn't attract wild animals by the smell.

It was still light as they gathered wood to make a fire. Farkas wanted to fetch his tinderbox when Milly reminded him that he didn't have to bother. She fiddled with her fingers, or so it appeared to Farkas, and she lit the fire with her self-produced flames.

"And it scares animals away," Farkas said as he positioned the rabbit above the flames. They had been very lucky indeed, not to find any wild animals on their journey. There were some giant and mammoth camps that Farkas knew and navigated around, avoiding the biggest problems.

"I hadn't imagined the tundra to be this... peaceful," Milly confessed as they sat around the fire, looking out to the setting sun in the west. The hills were bathed in red light and they seemed to be ablaze. With the crackle of the fire, it wasn't hard to imagine a sea of fire roaring, rolling over the hills, slowly dimming away in the setting sun. It was a beautiful sight, with the clouds turning purple and pink and stars that started to appear at the hills to the east.

The fire crackled merrily, roasting their dinner. Milly took chucks of bread and several apples from their pack to eat alongside the meat.

As the sun was fully set, the sky turned darker. Milly gasped as she noticed little points of light being drawn to the fire. At first it seemed like the stars from the skies had flown downwards, before she noticed the little dots were instead fireflies. It was beautiful, having the specs of light dancing around their camp side. They were joined by twirling moths, moths that seemed to shine in the same silver as the moon. It was as if starlight and moonlight had gotten a body and were physically present at the fields, not quite illuminating their surroundings with their weak light, but beautiful nonetheless.

After their dinner, Milly pointed out several constellations that she recognised to Farkas. The twin moons were hidden behind clouds, but the clouds alternated starry patches. She could tell the myth behind a few of them, feeling quite at peace indeed.

"You would really get along well with my brother," said Farkas after a few short stories. "He knows those things too. He likes history that most people have forgotten."

"If only he didn't hate me," Milly replied bitterly. She tried to forget about the previous night where Vilkas hadn't acted like himself.

"Oh, I doubt he hates you," Farkas answered, a smile forming on his face. He shifted. "That's the problem with you smart people. You think too much. And that is a bad thing, you should know. You know so much facts and stories, but you don't know how to handle people." He didn't say it accusingly, but more if it was merely a fact.

Milly was silent, then sat up and hugged her knees. "Have you heard you brother talking to me? If you don't call that dislike, then what?"

Farkas sighed, then raised to face Milly. The flames illuminated his light eyes, and Milly wondered how two pairs of eyes that looked so similar in colour could have such a different effect on her.

"I think he doesn't quite know how he should behave," Farkas elaborated. "That's what he does, he over-thinks everything. That's what he always did. I've always understood my brother best, and I think he's actually afraid of you."

Milly sat upright, not believing her eyes. "_Afraid_ of me?" she repeated, incredulously. "What, he thinks I'll poison his evening mead? He should be afraid of that, the way he acts."

Farkas smirked a little, an expression that she usually only saw on Vilkas. They really did look startlingly like each other like that. "He's not afraid you'll poison his mead, but I don't doubt that you can. We've never had anyone really living in our halls that wasn't a real Companion. We do have Tilma and Brill, of course, but they're not like you. You work with us, you live in the Alchemist's quarters, close to ours. You eat at our table, you train with us sometimes. He's afraid you'll get too close."

"What?" Milly interrupted, confused. "Afraid I'll get too close?"

"He considers that a bad thing," Farkas replied simply.

"Why would that be a bad thing?" Milly was feeling indignant now, almost unwelcome in the Companions.

"I don't think it is," Farkas said. How was he able to remain calm, always so calm? "I like you. But do you know what we see? We see a little lady living in our halls, all foreign and red-haired and not used to our Nord ways. You have your manners and your accent, your potions and your intelligence. You're everything we're not. And that scares my brother."

Milly was silent for a while, then said, "I have an accent?"

Farkas gave a short laugh. "And that's what you care about, accents and how you look to us?" He seemed amused. "Yes, you have this slight accent like the Elves, because of Morrowind."

"I never noticed anything," Milly said in defence, suddenly aware to how she pronounced her words.

"Your Rs are different, but don't worry about it," Farkas said, still amused. "And I wouldn't worry about my brother either. He just needs time before he's able to relax around strangers. You go to sleep now, I'll keep the first watch."

No matter that Farkas said not to worry, Milly still pondered his words as she tried to find a comfortable spot and close her eyes. She could hardly believe that Vilkas was _afraid_ of her, afraid of her getting too close. But if it was so against his desire that she got close, he _must_ dislike her, right? And did she really have a weird R?

"_That's the problem with you smart people. You think too much."_

Farkas was right, she did over-think everything. What was it that an ironic student had scribbled on the archway above the library of the University in Mournhold, long before she arrived?

_Ignorance is bliss._

And well, she thought for the first time. Maybe it was.

* * *

Milly took the second watch. It was Farkas after all who needed all his strength and energy in the morning when he got into the Cairn. He didn't expect to stumble on big resistance, but one could never know what sort of animals now habituated the forlorn site.

Taking watch sounded easy, but it was not. She needed to keep an eye on her surroundings, look at everything that might rustle through the dried grass. And while most animals were scared of fire and would stray off, there could be bandits lurking around, looking for unheeded travellers to rob.

In all honesty, it was extremely dull. She heard the rustle of night animals, but nothing that was too big or seemed to want to attack. It was easy to fall back asleep when all you did was sitting, huddled in a blanket, looking around. She felt like practising her magical skills, but that would exhaust her magical energy. It was better to keep all her reserves for unexpected events. The clouds had gathered during her sleep and no star or moon was visible under the dark skies.

It seemed ages before the sun rose, but it gave only a feeble light. The sky was still covered in clouds, and the sun didn't have the strength to break through. She woke Farkas as he requested, and they enjoyed a small breakfast of bread and dried fruits and nuts.

"Remember," Farkas told her, collecting what he wanted to take inside and strapping his pack to his back. "The fire is out, so people will have a hard time trying to spot you from afar. You need to stay hidden and you'll be safe. If anything happens, you have the dagger and your magic."

"I'll be fine," Milly replied. "It is _you_ who is in most danger here. Good luck."

Farkas smiled at her before he turned around and entered the Cairn, leaving Milly, the luggage and the horses behind. Staring around over the grassy hills, Milly wondered what she should do with her day. A bit timidly, she patted Scar on her neck, and the mare pressed her nose against her again. They weren't so scary, she thought. They were quite beautiful creatures if you got past their size.

After a while, Milly decided it wouldn't hurt to collect some more flowers. She grabbed the supplies from her pack and headed behind the trees and brushes, where she had seen a patch of mountain flowers earlier.

It was relaxing work, something she enjoyed doing. She cut the flowers just below the petals, and stored them in a single-layer in the thin, light wooden boxes she took along. She had one that was still empty, and it would be a waste if she didn't fill it too, wasn't it?

But there it was, quite suddenly, loud laughter from behind the trees, sounding shrill in the flowing wind.

She had been too absorbed in her work to notice anyone approaching. She stiffened in an instant, all her senses sharp.

She heard three different voices, all male. What were they doing here and what was their intention? Carefully, without making a sound, Milly put the flowers down and sheathed the silver knife at her waist. She had been good at moving around soundlessly when she was young. She was wearing soft leather boots now, and the grass would both muffle her footsteps and hide her from view. Knowing her cloak would obstruct both her movement and could make a dragging sound, she undid the clasp and carefully lowered it to the grass. Slowly, she moved to the trees.

"I tell ye, there can only be two," a deep voice said. "There are two horses, and this ain't looking like supplies for more than two."

"How can ye be sure it is them?" a sluggish voice replied.

"It all fits the reports, doesn't it, Jorn?" an enthusiastic voice added. The voice sounded like it belonged to a young boy, one that wasn't quite grown into his mature sound.

"It does," mumbled the deep voice, which must be Jorn. "And if it ain't them... Well, it doesn't really matters, now, does it?"

Milly circled the trees, still hiding out of view behind the brambles, to get a look at the three.

They were all Nord men, blonde hair and broad-shouldered, wearing leather armour in various states of wear.

Jorn, which seemed to be the leader of the three, had long hair, a very light blonde, tied back in a ponytail. He wore a fur cloak over his shoulders. All had their backs to her.

"Yeah, let's see what's inside," the sluggish man laughed as he got to their packs and staring opening them. He was the tallest of them all, and also seemed a little more beefy than both.

"I hope it's the twins," Jorn said. "Or at least the Circle."

"I hope there be money," the tall one grinned. It was her pack that they reached first, as Farkas hadn't left much behind.

Her heart beat in her throat. She wasn't sure what she needed to do. She couldn't let them ransack their belongings, could she? But on the same hand, she couldn't get the three of them all. If it had only been one, or two, and she had a good-aimed fireball, she might have a chance.

"It's a woman," the youngest one said, even more excited as he eyed the spare woollen skirt Jorn lifted. He looked older than his voice sounded.

"Oh, we _are_ lucky, aren't we?" Jorn called, going through the rest of the few clothes she had packed, touched the blouse and the vest.

She felt nauseated and violated as the big man took the pair of smallclothes. He held them to his face and sniffed them.

"Shame, they're clean, they are," he said and threw them to the young man, who took them as some sort of prize. Milly felt like she could throw up. Paralysed, she couldn't do anything but observe them.

"Is it Aela?" the big man asked. "Oh, I would so want a taste of that bitch. It doesn't seem like a warrior, what do ye think? We might have the wrong ones, we might."

"I'm sure we are having the right ones," Jorn replied. "They fit the location, it must be." He grinned as he opened the next pack and took out one of her boxes. He crushed the linen-lined lavender and laughed out loud, a mirthless sound. "It seems like that new alchemist they hired."

Milly couldn't imagine who these men were and how they knew so much about them. Did they have a grudge against the Companions? Why would anyone have a grudge? Were these men they had declined, that now sought revenge?

"Why would they take her along, Jorn?" the young one asked, who seemed to revere their leader.

Jorn grinned, a sound that made Milly shiver. "I guess they wanted a plaything along, don't ye think? Someone to keep the bed warm."

Milly felt blood draining from her face. This was horrible. She had no way of contacting Farkas at all, unless she managed to slip past these three and find her way into the grave. And if these three were here, there might be more around. Feeling paranoid, she looked around her, looking for any other men that might suddenly jump from behind a hill. There was no one.

Jorn spoke again. "I think one of them is inside, and they left their plaything waiting for them, outside. They wouldn't take a girl along, she'd be in the way she would. Let's have a look around."

And Milly knew she had only one chance. She didn't have much hiding places, and if they were to go looking for her, she stood no change.

She gathered all she had, gathered fire and heat and flames to her hands, collected concentrated energy from the pit of her stomach, from the tip of her toes. And, within a second, she blasted the roaring ball to the three men.

The blast was deafening, the impact almost blasting her off her feet. A heat wave came over her, threatened to overcome her as she willed herself to move away, quickly. She didn't take time to look at the trio, knowing she must move away. She didn't know if she killed or incapacitated them all, and if one of them was still standing, he might be able to locate the source of the fireball to her hiding place.

She hid in brambles a good distance away from the trees and carefully peered over it to observe the wreckage.

Patches of the grass were on fire, but the flames weren't high. The soil and grass were still moist from the morning dew. Two heaps lay flattened, but she couldn't find the third one.

She turned around. Where was he? Did he flee? And if he did, then where did he go? Did he know where she was?

Panicked, Milly looked left and right, but saw nothing than rolling golden hills. The sight had never scared her more. She didn't have a place to hide, but that was supposed to mean the third man couldn't either.

She moved from her spot, with the intention of finding a new hiding place. Just as she turned around, she bumped into the chest of a man.

"Hello sweetheart," the man grunted.

Not waiting to look up, she turned around again in haste and sprinted away. The man missed her by inches and followed her. Milly couldn't run far. Her skirts were obstructing her legs in running, even though the sheer panic made her forget about the muscle aches. Her legs were shorter than the man's, and she almost tripped over the uneven soil. The man grabbed her from behind and threw her down, face-first in the dirt.

Everything went black. For a moment, all Milly saw were coloured dots, dancing in front of her eyes. Even if her breath was knocked from her lungs, Milly struggled against the man grasp, but after a short wrestling match, she knew it was futile.

"Hush," the deep voice said softly. It was an odd combination of tones, soothing but demanding. Milly stopped protesting and found herself on her back with her hands pinned above her head, her body held in place by the weight of another.

All sorts of thoughts raged through her mind. She wondered how she could throw the man from her, grab the dagger at her waist, and stab the man to death. She couldn't do magic well with her hands bound, and even if she could, she was scared to release a fireball when her adversary was this close to her. She didn't have a lot of energy left to cast something powerful anyway. She thought about her pack, which held some potions that would replenish her magicka, out of her reach and possibly blasted apart by her own explosion.

She hoped beyond hope that these three men were the only one and that Farkas could get away safely.

"Ye cannot do magic tricks with your hands bounds, can ye?" Jorn asked.

She opened her eyes. The man stank heavily of sweat and dirt. She couldn't quite focus her eyes, still feeling too weak and out of breath. In the blurry vision, the man looked like a skull, pale skin and black spots where his eyes were. She must have broken a rib, she was sure of it, for the weight of the man on her torso was awfully painful.

"Ye thought ye could kill us, didn't ye?" he continued. His tone was still odd, demanding but persuasive. "Thought ye had a chance, lass? Tell me, who are ye with?"

Milly swallowed, her mind raging. She didn't want to say anything to this man.

"I said, who are ye with!" the man shook her, her whole body aching.

"I – I'm with Farkas," she gasped, almost against her will. It wasn't as if he really had anything about this information, had he?

"Right," the man replied. He bowed low over her, his mouth mere inches away from her ear. "And ye like him, don't ye? That's a pity, because pretty soon he'll be dead. We weren't the only ones, ain't we? Your furry friend is being waited for by me friends."

He sent shivers down her body. Was he bluffing? Was he telling the truth?

"And tell me, why did ye come along?" He was still breathing down her ear. "Are ye keeping his bed warm at night? You little whore."

He spat down her face. Milly squinted her eyes shut as the warm spittle landed on her cheek. She squirmed against her captor, trying to free her hands.

"I like that," he said to her, his voice turning husky. "And what ye can do for them, ye can do to me." Her captor held her wrist with just one of his, and let the other slide over her body, fondling over a breast, and reaching downwards, to lift her skirt. The man cursed. "What's the point of wearing skirts if you are wearing something under it, whore?"

Even so, he led his hand slide up on her inner thigh, over the leather of the trousers. At the touch, the taunting slowness of his progress, Milly froze. She was incapable of thinking, incapable of coming up with a plan to free herself. She might have thought she would protest if this ever happened, fight with everything she had.

Instead, she was paralysed. She didn't even realise she could try to escape, and might succeed now the man held her down with only arm.

"A knife, eh? That's ain't doing you any good." His voice was hoarse as he used the knife to rip her vest open, threw the silver thing away and tore her blouse open himself. He lowered the band she wore over her chest. "Not too bad," he spoke. "Could be worse, really."

Milly could hardly keep track of what happened the next few minutes. His hands were rough and it hurt where he touched her. She was staring up at the sky, the clouds darkening.

It might rain, later, she thought. It hadn't rained in a few days.

Only as the face of the man came into view did she regain what was happening to her. It came a shock, the face of the man obscuring her view of the skies, while he bend over her, holding her hands next to her face. Strands of hair that escaped his binds tickled down her face.

"Why are ye crying, girl?" he asked, the persuasiveness seeping back through the cruelty. "Ye fate could be worse. The girls think I'm quite the charming lover. Ye might enjoy yerself."

He wiped at her face, wiping away her tears she hadn't realised she'd shed, the dirt, his own spittle. It was almost a loving gesture.

"Don't ye think I'm handsome? All the girls think I am." Again, he whispered in her ear, his hair tickling her neck even more. "Look at me!"

In her apathy, Milly could only look at him. It was odd, she thought. She was staring at a weird angle at his face, an angle she never looked at someone before. And the man was right, she reasoned. He _was_ handsome. His features were perfectly even, symmetrical, and he was almost fine-boned. The angles in his face gave interesting shadows. His eyes were bright, almost golden-coloured, and his hair the colour of honeyed cream.

"Elf-blood," he said proudly, explaining why he seemed too pretty for a Nord man.

Again, it struck Milly as odd. She was laying there on her back, her chest bare in the chilly wind, with the man looming over her. He didn't look one bit aggressive now, and for his tone, it seemed like they were having a pleasant conversation. For some reason, she wasn't scared.

All of that changed, as if she was being plunged in ice-cold water, when she looked down. The man had lowered his trousers to his knees, and was as naked from the bottom as she was from the top.

Fear, anger, a passionate hatred, all of it rushed back to her, slamming her to action. The man, who had not expected this sudden change now that she seemed to admire his features, hadn't had a strong grip on Milly. She twisted around, rolling him aside, and in one swift movement, she grabbed the silver dagger from the floor and plunged it in his chest.

Jorn opened his eyes, surprised, blood spurting from his mouth. The dagger had hit, but not fatally. Milly pulled it from his chest, and stabbed him again, and again. He hardly gave a cry as he died, the red blood staining over his fair features.

At last, as the dagger slipped out of her bloody hands, Milly dropped over the body, crying in heavy sobs. Then she turned aside, and emptied the contents of her stomach next to the body. It was sobering, and calmed her after she wiped her mouth on her sleeve. She rose, and looked over the body.

It was splayed on its back, blonde hair framing the bloodied face. The golden eyes seemed dull while her looked up to the grey clouds. The leather of his jacket was soaked with blood, and ripped all over. His trousers still hang around his knees. With a sense of justified revenge, Milly collected fire in her hand, concentrated it to a small, dense ball and threw it at his loins. He caught fire, and for a few seconds, Milly looked at it with a wicked feeling of self-satisfaction.

It began to rain.

The first drops were soft, but then heaven fell upon earth, drenching everything and dying out the flames that had slowly started to expand near the spot of her explosion. She felt cleansed as the rain washed away the blood from her hands, from her face. She welcomed the rain.

As she drew nearer to the trees, she saw the other two bodies. The sluggish man was charred, hardly recognisable as a man, but for his legs. The boy had lost an arm. It was clear he wasn't killed instantly, as he crawled over the other man, perhaps looking for comfort, hoping he was alive after all.

The boy could not have been much older than seventeen. His big blue eyes were staring up at the skies, glassily, and she wondered if the raindrops mingled with dried up tears on his cheeks. His face seemed to be in peace, despite the circumstances. She hoped he hadn't suffered in his last moments.

She hadn't want to kill anyone, but if she had not reacted, would she not have been killed herself? Wouldn't she have been violated, perhaps dragged along to the camp of the bandits? This was self-protection, not some act of violent murder. Was it?

All the packs were burned. From the ashes and bits of leather, she couldn't salvage anything. Their supplies, their food, their clothes, and all the carefully handled flowers were gone.

So much for the use of defensive fire.

As she looked around herself, she noticed the horses had fled. They must have pulled on their ropes with all their force and bolted. They were big and could run quickly, they would be able to take care of themselves. She walked to the trees and untied the knot. She used the cord as a belt, wrapped it around herself a few times to keep her blouse and vest closed.

She needed to go after Farkas. She couldn't stay here behind. She had nothing to eat, no means of getting anywhere besides her own feet. She could wait for Farkas, but what if he never came back? She daren't think about that. He was tough, he was.

She cleaned the silver dagger on the wet grass and sheathed it again at her waist.

It was rather illuminating, actually, that she now knew she was able to defend herself, to kill, with a weapon. It had even be easy. She had killed before, the Imperial soldier back in Helgen, but the image was detached, as if it had not been her. Perhaps all of the events of that day and what precluded it, overshadowed the memory of her killing him.

Somewhere, at the back of her mind, was a small thought admitting that she had enjoyed this experience, enjoyed plunging the sharp dagger into the body, cutting through leather and ribs as if it was butter. Had she not desecrated the body afterwards and enjoyed that, too? She shoved the idea away, not letting it fester. She wasn't a killer.

She walked into the entrance pit of the Cairn. The door was tall, reinforced with metal studs. She opened it and stepped inside. The world changed when she stood in the hallway. The sound of the pouring rain was muffled, the smell of wet grass, mud and charred skin vanished and was overtaken by dry air, filled with dust, and something else, something like old metal.

She turned around and saw the mud of the pit behind the heavy door. She would have wanted to leave the door open, let fresh air enter the stale hallways, but she didn't want to leave any sign that a person had entered. It might be safer with the door closed. She pushed against the heavy wood, and was surprised that it still fitted neatly, perfectly, in its frame as if it wasn't centuries old.

The moment the door closed, all sources of light had vanished. Her breathing was the only thing she could hear in the silence. She almost needed to cough from the gathering of dust and spider webs over the course of centuries.

She held up her hand and conjured one of her orbs. It instantly lit the hallway, and even though it wasn't so bright that it could light the numerous dark corners, it made the entire place much less eerie. It took Milly a moment to muster her courage to continue. She breathed in deeply, commanded her nerves to relax. Carefully, she stepped forwards. The orb bobbed along overhead.

She needed to find Farkas, and as quickly as possible. Who knew what had happened to him already?

* * *

_A/N Edit: I just played a bit of Skyrim again, and guess what? In the Bards College of Solitude I found a man named Jorn, with white blonde hair. Hereby my apologies for this poor man, for he has no connections to the Jorn in this chapter at all._


	12. Wolf and Dragon

**Chapter 12. Wolf and Dragon**

It was cold inside. Milly was still drenched to the bone and had left her cloak on the fields. She tried her best not to shiver, for every sound she made seemed to echo over the distance of a mile.

There were corpses, and lots of them. The first she found was in the entrance hall, when she couldn't help a loud yelp from escaping. They were not fresh and bloody, like the bodies outside on the field, but dried and decayed, with the appearance of being centuries old.

There was something strange about the bodies, though. What were they doing on the floors? Wasn't this a grave? Shouldn't they be in coffins? She saw loads of them, too, emptied and broken. Were they raided by robbers, ages ago? Had they left the bodies to rot when they had taken the valuables? But then, there were enough bodies that seemed to possess their riches, like ancient armours and swords, and jewels and helmets. If they were robbed, wouldn't the robbers have taken those along, too?

She stepped over them with care, not wanting to touch any part of their dried appearance. Once or twice, she could swear she saw a blue gleam coming from the eye socket, but that was not possible, was it? She must be getting paranoid.

She didn't stumble upon any resistance. These tunnels really must have been deserted for decades. Milly calmed from her hysterics when she found nothing for a while, no corpses, no bodies.

And then, just around the next corner, her heart dropped. A large shadow, lit on the outlines by fire. She shrieked and jumped back, pulling the dagger from her waist. At the same time, the figure yelled as well and steadied himself, pointing a sword at her.

Milly and Farkas blinked at each other, dumbstruck.

"Milly?" Farkas said in a rushed whisper. "What are you doing here?" And then, after a moment's consideration, added, "What has happened to you?"

A lump formed in Milly's throat. She was so immensely glad that there was a familiar face gazing at her, a friendly face, one that didn't mean her harm. She was rooted to her spot, staring at Farkas' concerned face, at a loss for words.

How could she explain what had just happened, outside? Did she _want_ to tell what happened? It suddenly seemed so personal, something you just didn't tell anyone.

Farkas sat her down on the big urn where he had just been sitting, resting.

"You didn't walk very quickly," she said at last. "If you're still only here." Looking up at his face, she couldn't help herself. "I am _so_ pleased to see you." Relief.

"You didn't see the bodies?" Farkas asked in wonder. "I had to kill to find my way."

"Those age-old corpses?" Milly replied. "You killed them? But – but they were dead already. For centuries, if you ask me."

Farkas grimaced. "I don't know how. Magic, most likely. They are awoken, living dead. They guard their graves." He seemed to find this an uninteresting topic, however, and continued, in his own honesty-calm way. "What happened to you? You looked like you had to fight your way, yourself."

Milly told briefly what happened, but didn't say anything about what Jorn wanted to do. She made it sound like a normal battle.

"So you have to go back," she ended. "There are more of them, and they are waiting for you. We should leave, now we still can."

Farkas let the story sink in. Then he looked down at Milly. "You killed three people?"

"I... Yes," she stated. "Two with fire, and the last one... the last one I stabbed." She procured the dagger from her waist and held it up. "It's really quite sharp."

"Are you alright?" Farkas asked, true concern in his eyes. The torch he was holding threw shadows over his face, making him look alive, but also, in some way, feral. He wedged it between stones on the floor and knelt down in front of her.

Milly wanted to reply that she was, but then image of Jorn came in her mind, groping, licking, and setting his teeth in her flesh in those horrible moments when she couldn't move, and thought she was going to die a horrible death.

"Farkas, I'm scared," she said before she could help herself. She stared up at him, her eyes big in fear.

Farkas leaned closer, then hugged her. The gesture surprised her, as did the gentleness of it. He wasn't squishy because of the plate armour he wore, but he didn't press her too hard. She wrapped her arms around him and buried herself in his neck. He didn't seem to care that her clothing and hair were still very much damp.

It was pleasant. She didn't have to cry, but it was comforting to have someone pat her hair and shush her. They stayed like this for several moments, Milly sitting on the urn, and Farkas, kneeled, holding her, his hands tangled in her freed hair.

"We have to go on," he said gently as he released her. "We don't know how many others there are, but I do have a good idea who they are. And we're on a mission. We cannot abandon a mission."

"But," Milly started to protest.

"They could also be following us," Farkas replied, interrupting her. It was unlike him to interrupt anyone. "There could be more following us than waiting for us. We have to go on."

Farkas' loyalty for his mission was too strong, so there was nothing for it but to continue. Around the next corner, they stumbled into a large hall with a high ceiling. There was a dais to their right, on which there stood two large, stone chairs.

"I thought this was a grave, something like catacombs?" Milly said in wonder. "Then what is a throne room doing in a catacomb?"

It was a grand hall, but in forgotten glory. The walls were painted beautifully with fragments of long forgotten stories, the colours still bright with the absence of light. Facing the thrones was a platform that seemed overloaded with riches. There was a chest with coins and goblets and jewels, and a ceremonial armour was carefully laid out on the carved altar, a ceremonial, bejewelled sword laying across the chest plate.

"I think this entire room is like a monument," she hypothesised. "The bodies that are buried here must be royalty, or Jarls. It's all symbolic to give the spirits a fitting place to linger before they went on."

There was an air vent somewhere in the room, through which water had seeped through. Several fungi were growing at the edges of the dais and moss and lichen coated the stones.

Farkas was observing the treasure while Milly had more eye for the wall paintings.

"Strange that everything is still left," Farkas said, as he let his hand flow through the gold and let the coins ring.

"You're not planning on taking it, are you?" Milly asked, nervous. She never considered herself very religious or spiritual, but the thought of taking this treasure repelled her.

Farkas held up a coin and she took it, if only to look at it. It was beautiful, with an interesting face and figures stamped in the gold. These were age-old, valuable, not just in money, but historical as well. And there it was, as she eyed the gold, as she eyed the golden jewels. She was never a vain person, didn't care much for owning pretty things as they were so costly, but suddenly she was tempted with the very things. She wouldn't need to buy them, she could just take them. Nobody would know about it... There was nobody alive to whom they belonged...

She took a golden mirror, inset by pearls. Her mother used to have a set just like this. Her reflection wasn't the most agreeable on the moment, very pale with a swollen lip, a few small cuts and hair that was untidy as it had been when she just escaped Helgen. Hastily, she put it back, scared of her own greed.

Farkas looked at her, unimpressed. "I'm going to take some of the gold. It's ours," he said calmly. "If the owners are long dead and nobody has claimed it for years, you're allowed to take it."

"As long as you don't take that sword or armour," Milly said, indicating the ceremonial set at the altar. It gleamed silver in the combined light of Farkas' torch and Milly's orb.

"I wasn't planning to," Farkas replied, unease in his voice.

In the end, Milly couldn't resist taking a few of the coins. For historical value, she told herself. She couldn't quite make up an excuse for why she took one of the with rubies inlaid necklaces, other than that she hadn't taken the most expensive one with diamonds. It was just one necklace. What was the harm in taking it?

As they wanted to continue, they found their way obscured by a tall iron gate.

"Well, that's unfortunate," Milly said as she began to look around for some way to lift it. Farkas, being strong as he was, tried to see if he could move the gate upwards by mere force. He didn't seem to succeed.

"I found a lever!" Milly called as she walked into one of the dark alcoves of the room. On a pedestal she found a lever. And if not for lifting that gate, then what could it be for?

A rumbling noise emerged from the very rocks, startling both her and Farkas, and there, with the sound of thunder, a huge iron gate came crashing down. And there Milly stood, staring in front of her, where the alcove had been sealed off by the gate. She might as well have been standing in a prison cell.

"The gate is up!" Farkas called, and she heard his footsteps walked toward her. "What did you...? Oh," he muttered as he saw her standing there.

"It must be a clever trap," Milly replied, turning back to the lever again. "This lever lifts the gate to continue, but traps you inside." She wanted to lift the lever, so she could figure out how to solve this without the feeling of being trapped in a cell. But then, as she grabbed the lever in both hands, it didn't move an inch. She pulled on it with all her force. It had moved so easily to this side, now why didn't it move back?

Just when she started to feel panicked, she heard yelps and cries from behind her, and the sound of ringing steel as Farkas pulled his sword from his sheath.

She turned around, and through the bars, she saw five people emerging from the newly opened passageway. All of them were holding gleaming weapons, blades and maces and a warhammer, and a few sported torches.

"It's time to die, dog," one of them called as they surrounded Farkas. His huge broadsword suddenly seemed no match to the combined opposing force. "We knew you were coming here, and it seems we weren't wrong, were we?"

"Your fault, Companion," another one added. Why was there so much hatred in their voice? "How do you feel, knowing you are about to die?"

"A dog to slay and then a cat for dessert," a third said, his eyes on Milly behind the bars. "It must be my birthday."

"And which ones do we have?" the only woman asked, sounding more curious than loathing.

The first man answered. "It hardly matters. He wears their armour, so they'll die."

"Killing you would make for an excellent story," the woman concluded.

And still, even in facing five enemies, Farkas seemed as calm as ever. The tone of his reply was almost peaceful, as he was making kind conversation. "None of you will be alive to tell it."

And there, he did a very stupid thing. Or that was what it seemed like, at first. Farkas threw his sword aside, slipped the pack of his back, rendering himself defenceless. Was he planning on taking these men bare-handed?

"Farkas, no!" she cried, as the first man charged.

But, before the man was near enough, something odd happened. Farkas doubled over, and while he was doing that, a loud growl seemed to escape from deep in his throat. He was standing close to her gate, and softly, she could hear the sound of bones snapping.

And Farkas was changing. His back arched, beyond human capabilities, and he was growing. The leather snaps of his chest plate broke, and his armour fell to the floor. His clothes ripped, and instead of showing bare skin, dark fur emerged. It covered his entire body and his head, which had distorted and grown into a snout.

In the span of a second, Farkas had very much became a wolf, standing on its hind legs, eight feet tall and growling.

It charged before the man had reached him. It slammed against the body, clawed at the face. Its jaw snapped. And there, the other four attacked all at the same time. The wolf swirled around, hitting, slamming and biting and the few hits of the weapons that came through his defences didn't seem to slow him down. Bones broke, blood spilled and screams pierced the air.

It was over so quickly. The wolf stood between the mangled bodies of his attackers, observing if all of them were indeed perished. The torched had dropped to the floor, but they were still burning, illuminating the room with a bright red glow. Then the beast turned around to look at Milly.

She was paralysed, leaning against the pedestal of the lever and staring at the scene behind the bars. She was glad the bars _were_ between them, or the wolf might have charged her. But the yellow eyes of the beast weren't menacing. They were as gentle and concerned as one could possibly describe wolves' eyes.

Then, the wolf turned around and sped away.

She wanted to call after it, pleading it to return and not leave her behind with the wreckage of the corpses so close to her. Because the wolf was Farkas, it wasn't just a beast... Was it? It was a werewolf, a man-turned-wolf, a man that was her friend.

The gate lifted. She had sagged on the floor.

Farkas returned, back to normal again. He was wrapped in a large mantle and he was limping just a bit. He kept his distance from her.

"Are you – are you okay?" he asked. He seemed concerned and scared at the same time.

Milly looked up and was at a complete loss for words.

"Here," Farkas offered, and only half-realising it, he pulled her to her feet and led her over to the two thrones, setting her down on one. "I'll be right back." He turned to the side, to where he had dropped his pack.

It took Milly a few more moment to realise and comprehend what had happened. She turned around to see where Farkas had gone to, and found him with his back to her, pulling on a pair of breeches from his pack.

"Are – are you okay?" she asked instead, as she eyed the red gashes on his back. His back was pale skin again, devoid of fur.

"Nothing one of your little potions can't heal," he replied, grabbing a bottle and pouring it down his throat. He walked back to her, a look of concern back on his face. "Did I startle you? I hope I didn't scare you. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..." His voice faltered.

"You didn't mean to tell me?" Milly replied, and suddenly she felt more indignant than scared. "You – you could have told me. Earlier. I might have understood."

Farkas seemed alarmed. "No, you don't understand. This is not just me. It's... All of us. In the Circle. It's a blessing, giving to some of us. We can become like wild beast... Fearsome. Powerful."

"_All_ of you?" Milly repeated, her tone a little shrill. "You mean to say, you're not the only one? Vilkas... And Aela, and Skjor, and Kodlak too."

"Yes," Farkas replied, and he almost seemed ashamed. "I had wanted to tell you, but the others didn't want to. We couldn't know how you might react."

He was staring up at her, expectant, to see how indeed she would react.

"It... explains a lot," she said, staring overhead. "These bandits want to kill you, because they know you are werewolves. That's why they have silver weapons. That's why you didn't want to take the silver armour and ceremonial sword. She stared at the altar in front of her at the far end of the room, and her eye fell on the scene of slaughter in front of it. The bodies looked horrible. Some of them were mangled beyond recognition, where wolf-Farkas had bit them in the head or the guts. She didn't want to look at the bloody mass that sprawled around them. She felt immensely tired, all of a sudden.

"You should stop calling new members _whelps. _If you don't want others to know, that is. I thought it was just a reference to the wolf head on your armour, but now that suddenly makes sense, too. You might want omit anything that reminds of wolves."

Farkas had a half-smile on his mouth.

"You want to know if I approve?" Milly asked, guessing the look on his face. "I'm... not sure," she said hesitantly. "You still are a respectable group of... mercenaries, by lack of a better word. You never seem to slay anyone, or you are _very_ good at covering up and keeping people silent. You're not – are you?"

"We never kill for fun," Farkas replied, just a bit more stress than usually in his voice. "We only kill to defend, never to attack innocents. Our werewolf forms are like a weapon to us."

"And what if the moons are full?" she asked. "You seemed to be in control _now_, but are you in full control under the influence of the moons as well?"

"We make sure we are well away from innocents," Farkas replied. "We have a safe place to hide and wait for the dawn."

"Did – did you want this?" Milly blurted.

Farkas looked away. "It was just what happened. Everyone in the Circle has been a werewolf for over ages. When we became part of the Circle, it was the thing that had to be done."

She wanted to ask if he ever regretted it, but it seemed too personal, too prying. She swallowed her words.

"Well... It did seem to save you there," she said instead. "But, if you had not been a werewolf in the first place, you might not have required to safe yourself – a beautiful paradox. I don't think we should linger here. We don't know if there are more. Let's grab that fragment of yours and let's go." She sighed. "The horses bolted, as I told you, so we would have to walk back." A pause. "I don't know about you, but this place is giving me chills."

A touch on her face made her look back to Farkas. He had his hand outstretched, stroking her cheek. There was a tender expression on his face as he gazed at her, and the intention, together with the gesture, startled her. The touch was gentle, soft, and she could hardly believe a warrior such as Farkas was capable of such a touch, had she not known his gentle nature. Her heart skipped a beat at his silver eyes, and suddenly she was nervous, and very much aware that Farkas was only dressed in breeches.

Farkas showed his hand. On the tip of his fingers, where he had touched her face, was blood. She blinked at it. It must have splattered on there through the bars.

And then, perhaps because he realised the change in air, Farkas became nervous too. It was odd to see a man so muscular – with a bare chest that was – faltering. For a moment she thought she preferred a more slender chest like Ralof's.

"I – eh..." he stammered. "I didn't think you wanted blood on your face." He looked at his fingers as if to accuse them of doing something inappropriate. "I should find something more to wear."

And while he rummaged back in his pack to find more clothes, Milly wondered for the first time if there was room for love in a Companion's life. Could they marry, if they wanted? So far as she knew, none of them were. She had also never noticed anyone bringing lovers along, unless they had their lovers among themselves. An involuntary image of Aela and Vilkas flashed through her mind.

It wasn't as if she fancied Farkas. The thought was quite silly – he was a friend, perhaps like a brother, but she harboured no romantic feelings at all. Then she wondered if Farkas felt the same about her. What kind of gaze had she seen in his eyes, moments earlier? And what if he did fancy her? She never had to deal with anyone fancying her before either in Mournhold or during her short stay in Cheydinhal – the feeling mutual or not. What must she do in such circumstances?

She halted her thought. Wasn't she being extremely vain all of a sudden? Just because Ralof seemed to have liked her in some sort of way didn't mean every man suddenly had feelings for her. Oh, her arrogance, the shame! How could she have thought these things?

She twiddled the ring around her finger as Farkas was finished dressing himself. The problem was however, that he was now only wearing daily clothes. His armour had been broken when he transformed.

"I don't like doing this, but there's nothing else to it," Farkas sighed listlessly as he moved to one of the corpses. The man had been wearing steel armour that was, besides being bloody, still whole. He began to strap the chest plate from the unfortunate previous owner, whose face was hardly a face anymore.

Milly helped him in the thing. It was ill-fitting and she needed to set all the clasps the widest they would allow. Farkas was too broad for it, but there was nothing else to it. It was this, or going about in his shirt. Farkas twitched a bit, and he claimed it was because silver weapons left internal would that took a little more time to heal.

"I wish there was anything you could wear," Farkas said, observing Milly's ragged clothes. The rope had sagged and the vest and blouse were hanging a little loose, showing parts of the band underneath, showing a rather indecent amount of skin, but Milly hadn't the energy to care much about it. She had been awake since the middle of the night when she took watch. She wanted nothing more than to sag down on the throne, sacrilege as it probably was or not, and rest some more.

"I'm wearing clothes, that you very much," she replied. "I'm afraid there's no change I'll wriggle myself in _that_."

The woman had been wearing leathers and much of what was supposed to be her insides, were outside on the floor next to her. The leather armour was ripped and just plainly destroyed in the region of her abdomen, too much to be any use if she somehow managed to clean it. In her fatigue, Milly only felt a bit apprehension at the bloodied sight.

Her voice was bitter, and Farkas recoiled slightly as she helped with the last item, the left pauldron.

"I'm sorry you had to see all of this," Farkas replied in earnest apology, his voice softer than it was usually.

"Nah, it's okay." She had to force her voice to sound pleasant. None of this was Farkas' fault, and she shouldn't blame him for it. "And even if there was some clean well-fitting armour around, I doubt I'd be able to move much in it."

Both of them were glad to leave the room, to continue onwards. Farkas pointed to the lever that he used to lift the gate that trapped her, hidden in a dark shadowy corner. He had seen these types of constructions in more places. He suggested that they tried to sneak as silently as they could through the passages. If there were any more of the Draugr that were still slumbering, maybe they could avoid having to fight them.

The corridors were long and winding, with stairs and rooms and sometimes it was hard to navigate for the right way, or to the room that led to the fragment, if it indeed was there. She could feel the eerie presence of the bodies, slumbering in niches in the catacombs, and she could just imagine them raising, clutching the swords that were folded over their chests, attacking them. It wasn't a sight she wanted to see in real life, so she followed Farkas in silence.

The corridors were unpleasantly cold and Milly wished she had a cloak – any cloak, even one of the bloodied ones would do. It was an endless trip, and with every corner she felt closer to desperation. They had taken a short break to nibble from the dried fruits and nuts Farkas had taken along, and drank water from the skin, but it wasn't quite a full meal. They had more, but as they couldn't foresee how much longer they needed to go, it was better to save something.

When her desperation was close to overflowing, they came into another large high-ceilinged room. It was decorated quite unlike the other room, with most of the painting on the ceiling instead of the walls, and showed intricate designs of constellations and their stories. Against the wall here, were numerous coffins standing upright, dark and ominous.

And there, almost against her predication, stood a pedestal at the far end of the hall. Behind it was an intricate piece of stone carving in a half-circle.

"This is it," Farkas said, without telling how he knew it as he walked to the far end. And indeed, on the pedestal, as in an offer, lay a rather dull piece of metal.

"This is it?" Milly repeated, a bit disappointed. She had imagined something legendary, something that told of the remarkable history of the ancient axe, but in the end, it was just a piece of metal. "Well, this is just great. Take it and we can continue onward, if we ever make it out of this place."

Her fear, anxiety and fatigue had made her snappy. Even if they had the damned piece of metal, they still needed to find their way out of this forsaken place.

"This must be treated with respect," Farkas spoke, reverence in his voice. He slipped the pack from his back and rummaged in it to find the special box he had taken along for the purpose of transporting the piece.

Milly, inpatiently, turned around to stare at the curved wall. Instead of depicting a story with carved figurines, as she had expected, there was a wall of text. It was a strange language, something she didn't recognise. There was something about it, something that made her forget any fear and annoyance instantly and turned it to curiousity.

What was written here? What did it say?

"Do you hear the humming?" she asked as she walked closer. She couldn't quite describe the sound, but it seemed to reverberate from within in.

"What humming?" Farkas repeated, too busy with his fragment to care much for other things. He was holding an actual piece of Wuutrad, the axe that Ysgramor himself had carried!

Milly in her turn, could only care for the wall. There was one word that seemed to light up and she drawn toward it. The humming voices swelled, reaching a crescendo – there was a feeling, a feeling of wind while there was no movement of air, a sensation overcame her, so rough and pure it seemed to made of the life essence of the world – the voices grew louder – and the word quite literally lit up as all else faded to darkness...

A dragon. A dragon was breathing fire down over a village. But it wasn't simple roaring that the dragon did – it was speaking, and she could hear it speaking. _Yol_.

Lodunost, that was the name of the dragon. And there – the small figure in front of him, he was wearing a crown. A king, but he seemed so young. Jafnhar, the king was called, but she did not know how she knew. He was holding a shield, trying to block himself from the roaring fire breath of Lodunost. His other arm was bleeding and limp, but he still held onto a magnificent sword, that rung with enchantment. But the sword was of no use, the dragon was flying. Jafnhar skipped back, but then he tripped over a stone.

Other people were around, firing arrows at the large silver dragon, that talked even louder in fury. _Yol_. The fire was too much for the young king, he succumbed to the heat, the dry grasses around him catching flame. Lodunost turned to the other people attacking him, their arrows piercing through his hardened skin. He couldn't hold this for long – the dragon would die – the breathed fire for a last time, _Yol_, long and deadly and set fire to a tall fir tree. Then, the beast fell down and with a roaring quake, the earth shook. The dragon was dead.

* * *

It was cold. That was the first thing Milly noticed before she opened her eyes. The chill was accompanied by a feeling of wetness. She opened her eyes to have raindrops falling in it. She was wrapped in heavy blankets that weighted her down.

As she sat, she noticed they weren't blankets but oilskins, to try and keep the rain from soaking through everything. They hadn't done much and the chill seemed to be in her very bones.

"Are you okay now?" Farkas asked, somewhere to her right. She looked up and saw him sitting to a rock, huddled in oilskins and furs of himself. The wet furs emitted the overwhelming stench of wet animal, but it was something that might warm them a bit.

"What happened?" Milly asked. While she felt strangely restored, there were gaps in her memories. She remembered a tall room with a painted ceiling, but not much afterwards.

"You collapsed," Farkas replied. He grimaced, but whether it was because of the memory or the nasty weather, she couldn't tell. "You said something about a humming noise while I was busy with the shard, not long before you fell to the floor."

Milly remembered the wall again, the strange text, and the vision that had come to her mind.

_Yol_.

"And then, when I had put the shard away," Farkas continued, "all of the corpses in the room came alive. I killed them again, but you were still on the floor, unconscious. Even after the Draugr were dead, you wouldn't wake. I carried you and it seemed we were close to the exit. Outside again, I found the packs that the Silver Hand had left, and took them and you away from the place. I didn't want to stay too close."

Farkas' usual kind tone was stony, but she didn't blame him.

"I'm sorry," she said in a small voice. "I don't know what happened."

"Must have been fatigue," came the reply, a little kinder now. "Too much impressions."

"Yeah," she said slowly. "Something like that."

She didn't want to explain what had happened. She didn't fully understand it yet, but he had some suspicions that she didn't like at all. And whatever it was, it was something she didn't want to reveal too lightly.

"Thank you," she added. "For carrying me here. I figure you must have been quite tired yourself."

"It's okay."

"How long have I been sleeping?" Milly wondered.

"It's the next morning now."

They shared a meal of sodden bread and wet strips of jerky and apples. The horses had bolted, and the only thing they could do was gather what they wanted to take and start walking. Because of the tall mountains, it was quite easy to navigate the direction of Whiterun. They left the feet of the mountains with fit trees and rocky landscape behind them and headed to the grassy hills of the tundra.

They walked in silence, Farkas in front and Milly following him, both cold. Every once in a while Farkas glanced behind him to see if Milly was still catching up. She kept a steady distance behind. Both were having difficulty dragging their boots through the sodden grass and mud.

At least they didn't came upon any wolf or bandit or giant. Nothing wanted to be outside in this weather.

At least, that is what they thought when they heard a strange roar in the distance. They looked up and their hearts sank. After the previous day, their luck seemed to falter them still.

Above them, circling the hills, was the outline of an enormous dragon in the rain. Its body was sliding through the rainy skies so smooth, it didn't seem to have any problem with the weather.

Alarmed, they looked around, but all they saw were hills. No place to hide.

"I think it already saw us," Milly said, her voice loud to overcome the roaring beast.

And indeed, the beast was circling over them in closer and closer circles, and lost height. As the dragon in Helgen was black, this one was white as snow. As it flew over them, they could just admire the spikes the covered its body.

"What do we do?" Milly called. There was no chance they could outrun the beast.

"We fight!" Farkas replied.

They didn't have a choice. They dropped their heavy packs so they could move more nimbly. Farkas drew his sword, the metallic sound hardly audible over the roar.

The dragon swooped down, low, opened his mouth, and out it came not fire, but ice. Both of them could avoid the icicles, but the cold emitted from the dragon itself and seemed to turn the rain to icy needles.

In the next swoop, Farkas raised his sword, cutting in the belly of the beast. It roared, but the wound was hardly severe.

Milly stared at the beast, rooted to the spot, and was amazed as the dragon above her moved in patterns that she could see and predict. The cold was intense. It was so intense that it almost incapacitated them, had they not have the sheer willpower to live and survive. Their skins were soon bloody from the sharp icicles raining down on them.

And then the dragon landed, and the earth shook. Milly could only just hold her footing. But as she will still busy keeping balance, Farkas was already running to the beast, his sword held high. He rammed the weapon in the neck of the dragon and it roared, sending up icicles in the air.

Milly wanted to scream as she knew what was about to happen. Farkas wanted to pull his sword out, but it had stuck, and he didn't see the tail whipping behind him, slamming his back. With a cry, he fell forward, and Milly couldn't see him through the grass.

"_You_." The dragon leaped over Farkas and headed straight to Milly. "_We were told there was only one_."

"One of what?" Milly cried in answer. "I am not..."

"_Dovahkiin_." The dragon raised it head, raised it to charge. "_Krif voth ahkrin_."

It breathed ice down her, but Milly saw it coming and jumped aside. She jumped over a ridge, and eyed the beast as it rose to the skies. Trying to think of everything but the freezing chill, she gathered flames in her hand. She didn't gather a powerful ball, she just needed to test first where it would do damage. The scaly skin was too though and no degree of fire seemed to even hurt the beast. Not on its belly either, where the skin was thinner.

She wanted to hit its eye, render it blind, but as the beast was flying, she couldn't reach it. And then, the moment it opened its mouth again to blast new ice at her, she realised something. It didn't have any scales inside its mouth, or down his throat.

So, as she dragon was charging, she gathered all she had, all flames into a dense, concentrated force and then, as the mouth was wide open, released it.

The rain and charging ice evaporated into steam, hot steam that burned her, but she endured. The dragon shrieked, a sound seeming to come from its guts, as the fireball hit the target. It writhed in pain, crashing down to the earth.

Milly wanted to run over to Farkas, whom she couldn't see through the curtain of rain and the grassy hills, as a sensation halted her step. There was the wind again, the surge of overpowering energy, raw and livid. It originated at the dragon's corpse, and overcame her so much she was blinded for a second.

_Yol._

Fire.

The word seemed to burn in her mouth, and without understanding how, she realised that if she cried the word, she would breathe fire herself the way the dragons could.

And, at the same time, she did understand that her suspicion was correct. It was not just her father who was Dragonborn, but she was, as well. And it made all sense, actually. She did not know what made you Dragonborn, if it was something like magic, or just your ancestral blood... Well, then it was only logical that she too, would have the power.

She was scared of it, however. Her father had gone to that dreadful mountain that loomed far in the southwest, that she couldn't see now through the rain. He was gone to train with those Greybeards, and who really knew what sort of people that were? She certainly didn't want to go there.

She picked up Farkas' sword from between the dragon bones. Its skin, its flesh, had all disappeared, as if it had turned into the force she had taken in her. And, as she was walking back to where Farkas had fallen, she understood him, and the Circle. They did not want other people to know about them being werewolves. It was something people feared, people didn't fully understand. Something they accused you for being.

And was being Dragonborn not the same? True, people saw it something to be in awe with, something ancient and almost like a prophet. But if people knew what she was, that was the only thing she would be known for, rather than her other skills or personality. She had seen how people thought her father was their new revered hero, and she held no desires to be seen the same. She didn't want to be expected to solve the problems of this cold, cold province of Skyrim, and wanted nothing less than to be a pawn in the current affair with the dragons.

It might be a selfish thing to think, but there and then Milly decided to forget all about these events, forget about the dragons. She wouldn't tell anyone, and simply ignore it. At least until she no longer could.

Farkas was still alive. The force had knocked the air out of his lungs and he simply didn't have the force to lift himself back to him feet. He must have fallen unconscious, at least for a while, and hadn't seen anything that had happened. He was exhausted, as he had not slept since the previous night, but he couldn't help to utter his surprise that Milly was able to kill the dragon.

"Well," she said, a humourless grin on her face. "It seems like I am more able to defend myself than anyone thought, am I not?"

They rested before they continued, to find a place that might offer more shelter, perhaps a small cave, a place where Farkas could get some sleep.

And while they were back on their feet again, this time Milly leading and Farkas following, she couldn't help to wonder over the striking contrast between her and Farkas on the moment. He might have lost a secret, but she had certainly gained one.

* * *

_A/N: I doubt this comes as a surprise to anyone, but still, here you have it! Much of love for everyone who added this story, is going to, or leaves a review to let me know what you think :)_

___"Krif voth ahkrin"_: Fight bravely (thanks to UESP)  



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